


When Flesh Gives

by ShySpider



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: 1980s, Angst, Anxiety, Autobot trapped in human body, Cheating, Crying, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Life bends you over often, Medical, Not what you'd expect, Other, Pre-MTMTE/LL universe, Reader Has A Name, Reader probably has ulcers from all this, Romance, Science, Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Stress, Surprise Ending, Unruly demeanor, You wear someone else's skin, You're treated differently for being female, frustrating, hardcore breaking down, in-tune with 80s events and references, medical facts, pre-infiltration storyline (IDW), science gone wrong, sometimes you're oblivious, sometimes you're wrong, suggestive content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 173,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShySpider/pseuds/ShySpider
Summary: You have been given the opportunity of a lifetime.Pioneering this team of scientists, you were given Project Arkeville, and you were responsible for unlocking the wonders of this alien material.Not only that, but you were able to fix your biggest regret. You were finally going to put things right. You were going to take back control of your life.Nothing will go wrong, not with you at the helm. You accounted for every mistake, planned out every solution, assessed every detail. There is no way things can go wrong, not when you are so close, not when so much is riding on this.But...if things do go wrong...Can you rely on these new and strange friends you've made?More importantly, can they rely on you?





	1. It’s a scientific curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for taking a look.
> 
> So why is your name Evalyn (Eva)?  
> Well...my husky-dog is named Eevee...and it's completely unrelated.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .

There were pictures on your closet door. Photos of how you two were young and growing together; Photos of you playing sports, going to school, and posing for prom – all with him. There were photos of you with friends, mostly of a beautiful blonde and a tattooed punk. Finally, among them all were the photos of your college graduation, of your work uniforms, and of your first apartment; again, all of them together with him. In the mix, photos of his and your intimate gazes, tender smiles and loving kisses.

You often thought of the photos on your closet door. Pictures that reminded you of what you once had. These images itched at the back of your mind while you looked over your patient’s chart – the man from the pictures. Henri Arkeville.

Now, he laid on a medical bed, tubes down his nose and throat. Wires and I.Vs attached to him like cobwebs, feeding him and transferring data to the beeping and blinking monitors.

You glanced at him from the clipboard. Henri no longer looked as he did in the photos. He lost his tan and toned muscle mass over the years. Sometimes, it made you a little upset how much his appearance changed. You wished he’d open his eyes and give you that soulful dark-chocolate gaze you fell for. You wished he would shift to the side of his bed and pat beside him invitingly. You wished he would whisper in your ear all the things he loves about you, and how he would randomly replace a name with yours in those silly songs he’d mumble.

But he didn’t do any of that. He couldn’t. He was brain dead.

“Eevee.”

His strong voice pulled you from that dark and broken road. With grateful relief sighing between your lips, you gave your best smile, “Dad.”

You dropped the chart back into its slot and threw your arms around a significantly older man. If his weathered face of road-mapped wrinkles or his _‘Mr. Fantastic’_ gray hairs didn’t announce his age, then his teasing mannerisms did, “How did I know you’d be _here_ of all places?”

You pulled away and your smile became plastic. It was a playful jab, but it stung. Your job may have much to do with the patient, but you did spend more time than needed in this room. “I’ve been wondering when you’d get back. How was your trip to D.C.? Not all golfing, I hope.”

He chuckled guiltily, clearing his throat, “Ho no, all work, my dear. I was able to raise our budget even more with my thesis on synthesizing foreign material as a new source of energy. There were a few hiccups, but nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” You crossed your arms skeptically, “Meaning?”

“We will be receiving a visitor to oversee the project, to see what their money is getting them.”

You waved your hand to emphasize the question, “Why is that a problem? That makes perfect sense.”

Lead Nuclear Physicist, Doctor Morgan grumbled, “I do not need a pencil-pushing _boy_ telling me how to do my work. He’ll just get in my way.”

You giggled some at your father as he so dramatically pointed at you, “And I don’t need some little man giving you a hard time. He won’t be here for a month or so, he’s finishing up elsewhere. We need to hurry your project up.”

As headstrong and domineering as you felt he was behaving, you found yourself nodding approvingly. That’s all you needed, was someone patronizing you, completely ignoring the fact you carried a Masters in Biomedical Research and Engineering and lead a team of the same caliber. No matter where you turned, you always had to prove you _belonged_ in this field of work.

You shook your head with a click of your tongue, “We can only go as fast as our shipments. Don’t worry. We’ll get it done.”

He was quiet, looking off at your patient. He seemed worried, and it rubbed off on you instantaneously. Was this administrator coming here really that much of a bother to him? Usually, you were the one heavy with anxiety, but you found yourself in the position to soothe the growing tension, “But that’s pretty great you were able to raise our budget. I knew you were the better choice to represent us. It's no surprise they took well to your thesis.”

Doctor Morgan lit up with a grin and cocked his brow for show, “That, and my skill with a nine-iron.”

“Oh, so you _did_ spend some time golfing.”

“Sacrifices, dear,” He started out of the room with his hand on your back to guide you out, “Now about you. Anything happen in the last four months?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” You walked with him, mentally going over the checklist of what _not_ to bring up. You kept your response strictly on work, “The patient is prepped and ready. We are just waiting on the shipments now.”

“Have you stepped outside the facility? Called any of your old friends like I asked you to do while I was away?” He had a certain accusing tone, twanging that chord that made you wince. “You know, _real_ people? _People_ people?”

You hadn’t. You hadn’t spoken to anyone since they fell out of contact after Henri’s accident. Even if you did find the time to leave the restricted base, you wouldn’t be able to open up to anyone on your classified work. Your _friends_ were restricted to the faces seen here on a regular basis, the people who were not _people_.

There were a few things you and your father disagreed on. This was one of them. Slightly emboldened by a little resentment, you snorted a response, “I have friends that don’t work here if that’s what you mean.”

“You do?” He asked doubtfully.

“Now that you’re here, I can say yes to that date he’s been bugging me about.” You said pertly with a little satisfied smirk. He deserved a little disappointment for leaving you alone for four months.

“Date?” He was flabbergasted, “Like, leaving the base? What? Who is he? Is he taking you out in the city?”

“Oh no, we stay near the country.” You pulled out the pen that held your hair up in a bun, using it to draw in the air, “He talks a lot, but it's nice. The stories he tells, it’s a very nice distraction.”

You continued down the maze of corridors, passing labs full of scientists, engineers, and military personnel. Everyone was working on different computers and machines alike, slaving over data and experiments, testing theories to push humanity just a bit further. This facility, along with two others within walking distance, was dedicated to several different types of tests and research of the _classified_ kind.

“He takes my mind off things when he talks. It lets me relax. He’s sweet. He was there for me on _that day_ , you know.”

“Aww, sweetie, I would have been here but-”

They exited out to the open walkway, overlooking the tall, wide warehouse. Below, where most of their automobiles and cargo containers were stored, others were also busy with larger projects and machines. Among the bustle, military security ran drills, worked alongside those wearing lab coats, and their much larger, _alien_ guests.

“It’s _fine_ ,” you said with a little nip. “You remember Bluestreak?”

Doctor Morgan Senior stared disappointedly at the tall mechanical creature he came to know as an Autobot. He remembered his brief introduction to the alien when it first arrived and didn’t think much of him afterward. This thing was not as big as the others he’d met before, but still bulky enough to make him nervous with the idea of his daughter getting stepped on.

“I see...” He glared at the machine, keeping his tone professional, “Don’t take too long, Eva. We have work to do.”

~*~

* * *

~*~

The wind whipped your hair about as your ride raced down the open street. You couldn’t find the will to smile while taking in the vast open view of government property. The leaves were just beginning to change, and the air had a chill that smelled like apples. The base took up hundreds of acres of wild property alongside the mountains, and no one but your coworkers and these aliens could enjoy the view with you.

His voice finally spoke up, “Doctor Markus Morgan didn’t seem happy that you left with me.”

You spat, “He needs to get over his suspicions of your race. We can work alongside you guys but we can’t have anything outside the workplace? He’s just being stubborn.”

“You mean he doesn’t trust us.”

“No, and I don’t know why. You’ve been forthcoming with your intentions. We’ve exchanged valuable information, though I feel we are benefitting much more than your people.”

“Your people do a lot for us. They let us mine the raw ore that is our primary fuel and you guys try to help us synthesize an alternative energy once we run out. Also, your military assists us in dealing with the enemy faction. You little organics do a lot for us.”

Your brows pinched together as you thought about that. You played a very small part to this larger operation, and what you did wasn’t even an asset to them, but your own people.

“But we haven’t come up with anything. You can't blame people for wondering what you’re up to.”

“What we’re up to?” The Autobot echoed.

“Your faction is in the middle of a war and not many know what the war is about. You found evidence that your enemy may be up to something here, but you’ve only come across a few. You know the questions everyone asks: why are you allowing us access to your science and machinery? Why are you helping us? What's in it for your faction? What is your ulterior motive?”

From the speakers around you, the voice yelped, “Nothing horrible! Do people really ask that? We’re Autobots – the _good_ guys!”

You winced from the volume, “I know, I know, calm down. I don’t believe you all to be bad – I'm just saying, lots of people are wondering why you even made contact. You could have mined your ore without us even knowing.”

“I can’t speak on behalf of our leader,” Bluestreak tried to explain, “But I think we want peace with your world. We lost our home, and he wants to make sure others never fall to the same fate. If the ‘Cons are looking at this place, Optimus will want to do everything he can to stop them from whatever they’re planning. Giving your people what we know...maybe because sharing is just a nice thing to do.”

That made you smile. He sounded so sweet and childlike sometimes, seeing innocence and rainbows in everything. It couldn’t have been that simple. Something in the back of your mind begun tying a red flag to a pole, ready to wave it the first sign of trouble. You hushed your little color-guard flag-tosser as the mech continued.

“We also need to find out _why_ the Decepticons are interested in Earth. Is it the ore? We can't let them have it, and we can't just leave you all to their mercy – they have none. No, leaving you – er, _your_ people to get slaughtered, that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.” Bluestreak said the last line with more conviction than you expected. Your skin tingled with goose-bumps.

“No,” You said, “I guess it's not.”

“But,” He began again, a little sheepish, “I don’t think your father taking issue has anything to do with that. If you don’t mind me saying…”

You stared down at the steering wheel that moved on its own, preparing for things to drive down a heavier path.

“Does he know about your… _meltdown,_ as you called it?”

After your father and his partner left with their team of head scientists, you were alone on the day you tried your best to seek your father’s company. The anniversary of when Henri fell into a vegetative state. That same day you didn’t stop him from getting in that car.

“You were distant when we first met, and I thought it was because of what I am, but I’ve observed that you are much more pleasant with my kind than you are with your own. You are not close to your human comrades. That day, you were alone and your face was leaking as if you were injured. I didn’t think you’d even talk to me while you were like that.”

You nodded, remembering how difficult it was to work on Henri, running tests and ensuring he was as healthy as he could be that day. Your staff proved only an irritation rather than a distraction. You were so harsh with his doctor that the stress and pressure caused the poor woman to mix up and administer the wrong medication, causing his heart rate to dip.

After stabilizing him and screaming at the specialist, your assistant had to send you away to calm yourself. You were so furious and inconsolable, you didn’t know what to do other than sit outside the facility and cry on a lonesome picnic table. If _crying_ was even the appropriate word for screaming in your bundled lab coat as rivers poured down your face.

“I think he’s worried about you, and that you don’t seem to have relationships with other humans. I think with how vulnerable you are, he’s worried you are finding comfort in the wrong place. The one you call Henri, he was who you went to when you were distressed. I think your father is worried about who you go to now.”

You looked up in the rearview mirror, remembering how you couldn’t find relief that day. Your assistant was the best help by sending you off to be away from people. As you were alone on that picnic table, cursing and soaking your lab coat, you heard his timid voice come from the car. You didn’t even hear his engine as he pulled up, but heard him ask in such a way that still makes you smile, _“I can drive you around if you want. You don’t have to tell me what's wrong, but I’ll listen if you do. Or we can drive quietly, or I can talk if you don’t want to.”_

Bluestreak hugged a turn, your seatbelt tightening, “You should connect with your own kind. Not saying I mind you coming to me when you want company. I like your attention. You’re very nice and smart, and I like it when you talk to me, and you like it when I talk to you, and you don’t get mad or annoyed by it. And I'm no science-bot, but it’s fascinating to study-”

“Are you flirting with me?”

It stopped him in his tracks. _Literally_. You jolted forward from the sudden stop and the seatbelt squeezed out a squeak. It was funny how easy it was to throw him off track, but in this instance, you needed to redirect him for your own sake.

He was right. You were deliberately finding comfort in those who were not like you. It was difficult to describe, but you didn’t _hate_ people, you just didn’t _prefer_ them. These Autobots just had better ways to distract you with their captivating ways of life and their millennia worth of stories, culture, and politics – and the unmistakable fact they were _aliens_. Which was easier? Forgetting the hurt by ignoring it, or face it head on, accepting the pain and taking it all in. Ignoring it gave you steadier hands.

“What?” He said with a defensive pitch, “No! Of course not!”

You unbuckled the belt and rubbed your collarbone, imagining a nice strap-shaped bruise you would have to explain. “It sounds like it to me. You sure you’re not interested in humans in a completely different way?”

“Primus, no!”

“Maybe that’s why you’re all here. It’s a slow invasion in order to steal all the Earth-women.”

“You – you’re tiny and – and no! Just no! Our physiology is - No!”

“You’ve checked? Studying deeper into human anatomy, eh?”

“What? No! I mean – no! That’s it!” All his doors flew open in his fluster, “Out! Stop picking on me. My curiosity is completely harmless. You’re the one with the filthy processor. For shame!”

You laughed as you exited the car, turning expectantly. You never tire of the sight.

The shifting and grinding metal, cogs turning and plates sliding, gears twisting and locking into place. All to form into a bipedal machine, and it was beautiful, glinting in the sunlight. A beautiful, marvelous, scientific distraction.

Bluestreak was aware of your awe each time he transformed and took a moment to pose, letting you look him over. He gave a prideful chuckle and reached down as if he would pick up a cup. He didn’t move any closer to you, waiting for your consent. You stepped into his waiting hand, and his cool fingers curled gently around your torso. It was a strange fear you had to conquer as your feet dangled. This was the ultimate sign of reliance, and you didn’t much like relying on anyone. It was a trust-fall without the _falling_ part, and in the short time you knew him, Bluestreak never broke that trust.

He set you on his shoulder-plate but didn’t move his hand until you settled, wedging your own between the plating for more security. The metal was slightly warm from the drive, warmer where your fingers pushed between his plating. You couldn’t help but take advantage of being so close to his face, observing the smoothness of his faceplate.

His blue optics fell on you and you relished in seeing the details behind the glass: plates and lights and lenses layered and melded together to make something wondrous. The metal that made his mouth curled up in a smile. Out of all the Autobots, Bluestreak smiled the most, and it served as a reminder that they weren’t so different from you.

You turned your gaze out at the scenery. The view was a lake at the base of the mountain. The sun shone brightly in the vivid blue sky. It was lovely, but the beauties of this world held no compare to the sight you sat upon.

“Thank you, Blue. I love these little dates we have.”

“You need to get out more. You spend too much time in those buildings, and you visibly relax when I bring you out. You’ve been stressing more, and that’s not healthy for your organic makeup.” He held up a finger, “I read about this condition where your little blood-pump can actually attack you while under distress-”

“It’s a _heart attack_ , and that’s where our blood flow is blocked. What you’re thinking of is _cardiac arrest,_ and yes, it can be brought on by stress, among many other things.” You lectured.

“Ah! But you _can_ experience a, uh, malfunction due to your _awful_ work habits.” He smiled to himself, “And I’m saving your life making you take breaks. See? It’s not so bad.”

“You dote on me too much.” You hummed and quirked a brow, “Is it a requirement of yours to study me, or are you trying to study all of humanity?”

“I do it because I call you _friend_ , not because I’m studying you.” He turned his head to look at you, and you did the same, meeting his optics again, “As for the doting bit, it's nice to care about something that’s not the war.”

That made you smile. He was _your_ friend. He was only a pleasant distraction when things first started, as had many others, but he became an actual _friend_ after he lent you that giant metal shoulder. “I won't lie, the doting took some getting used to. I’m sorry I accused you of only having an academic interest in me.”

“If there's any to be had, it’s more like a cultural interest.” He admitted, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t just a sharpshooter, that I could take the time and learn a little about your people. I find everything about humans fascinating.”

Your interest was piqued, “Such as?”

“So much! Your music, your movies, your literature, how you have relationships and ambitions and family – how similar you are to us, but we’re galaxies apart.” He said wistfully.

Where you would have swooned at the cosmic ironies of being so alike, but so different, you focused on one thing that’s been a constant, nagging curio. The door was now available, and you peeked in.

“Our relationships are fascinating to you?”

“Definitely! You have so many forms of bonds you share with others. I find it interesting that there isn’t much difference between our people – except we don’t do it to reproduce.” He explained, then gave a slight shudder at the end. There were still some things about your organic biology that still made him gag.

“I always wondered if the Cybertronian race experiences love as we do.” You never wanted to awkwardly ask before, but now the door was cracked and you were letting yourself in.

You learned much about them from the few alien scientists you’ve visited, but never had the spine to ask, _‘do you love as we do?’_ It could end one of several different ways. You could offend someone, _‘how dare you think you organics are the only ones!’_ or _‘are you offering? This is a hostile act! Help!’_. The worse of the scenarios going through your head ran along the lines of something that belonged in the back of a seedy movie mart. The words _‘teach me´_ had you drowning that bawdy part of your brain in acid.

Bluestreak pealed, “Oh yes, we do! Of course, we do. It’s close, but not as you humans, though.”

“How is it different?”

“Your kind loves so quickly. You have stories where love is found in a night.” He had that intellectual finger pointed up again as he declared proudly, “Our bonds are deep, and last for several millennia. Sometimes, a bot can go through their entire life without finding the one to call their conjunx endura.”

“I’m sorry, what? Did your vocal unit glitch?” You peered, reviewing the words in your head, “Con...conjunx? Latin? Is that Latin?”

He shrugged under you, rocking you just slightly and nearly pinching your fingers in those little handholds, “I don’t know how it sounds to you in your language, but for a Cybertronian it is a term equivalent to your spouse-partner, a bondmate. It’s someone you deeply care for, someone you love, someone to carry out those tough decisions if you are offline or in stasis.”

“But you think that’s different from what we have.”

He looked out at the scenery, “Like I said, our bonds are serious. They run deeply, and a conjunx is not chosen overnight, nor are they broken.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling a little offended that _you_ of all people could possibly be categorized as fickle with relationships. “Sounds like you’ve been watching those silly romance movies.”

“Are they not accurate?”

“Not really,” You said, “You have to understand, every human is different. Some have those...single night encounters. Some cheat on their spouses and some marriages break up, but that’s not everyone. Sometimes relationships last our entire lifespan. Just because you live longer than us, doesn’t make our bonds shallow. They are just as deep as yours.”

“It’s still a strange concept, falling _out_ of love.” Bluestreak mused, “Seeing how dedicated you are to your bondmate, it's hard to believe that is not the standard with other humans. But, you’re right. You are very different from one another.”

You fell quiet as you turned your attention back at the scenery. It's been a lonely three years, but there was no one else out there for you. Correction: you wouldn’t waste your time with anyone else, not while the man who asked to marry you needed you. Henri Arkeville was the only one for you.

“I’m worried your love for him could be blinding you.”

Your head turned so fast at the sudden accusation, you felt something pop between your second and fourth vertebrae. You glared your wordless question into him.

His optics faltered from your intensity, “What if your procedure with Henri fails? What if it's not safe?”

You sighed, all anger ebbed away as fatigue flowed in. You were familiar with the questions that haunted your sleep, even after you accounted for every possibility and every solution.

“It's true. It could kill him. We’ve done the research, did tests till my fingers bled. We’ve planned for as many outcomes we could come up with. We are as prepared as we can get. Blue, he’s been like this a few years. He’s not waking up _on his own_.” You snapped out at that last part and regretted it. You took a deep breath, trying your best to exhale the anger.

“It's not your fault, you know that.” He said softly. Bluestreak was kind, gentle and sweet, and he meant well. They always mean well.

The words were hollow, doing nothing to fill the emptiness in your chest. “People always tell me that, but I never feel it. I didn’t want him to go, but he insisted. I should have fought harder. The weather was terrible. There are so many things I want to go back and change. If only-”

“Eva,” He stopped you from taking that path, “I understand regret. You refuse to feel powerless, but in this instance, you were. You need to look forward to what you have. Sometimes, things are out of our control.”

You didn’t say anything as he paused, waiting for a reaction. You only looked at him with tired eyes as he continued, “Loss is a difficult thing to accept. Trust me, I know. But as soon as you can accept that the past is unchangeable, and know you have a chance to change things now, you’ll have a sharper focus and a lighter spark.”

You wrung your hands, feeling the mech shift his stance under you. He was visibly distraught over your mood and if you didn’t change now, he would continue to fuss. Your little outings wouldn’t normally turn out like this, but a few times it turned into you crying as the large machine did his best to offer consolation.

 _Bluestreak really is remarkable_ , you thought to yourself, _as an anomaly and a friend._

You must pull yourself out of this pit, if not for yourself, then for him. Anything to put your friend at ease. You rubbed your eyes and brushed your hair back in one swipe, managing to pull your lips in a faint smile, “I cannot get held up on the possibility of failure. We are in the last steps of this project, and it has to be all or nothing. I have to believe this will work, that everything I did was not for nothing. I have to believe that Henri will be a pioneer of what this could mean in the medical field.”

“I'm sorry, but what if it doesn’t, Eva? What will happen then?” He pressed with a slight urgency to his tone.

“I can't think about that.” You shook your head, “Even if it's hard for me to get over the guilt of what I let happen to him, I take some comfort in thinking it gave us this opportunity. I did not slave over this project for it to fail. The time I’ve held on will not be for nothing. I won’t allow it.”

You caught yourself. You came off more stern than intended and felt a growing rage start to ignite in your throat. You took a few breaths, feeling the heat leave your face. Bluestreak was not saying a word, only keeping his eyes ahead as you vented.

Whatever reason he stayed silent, it made you feel guilty. You understood his concern. You walked a tightrope and refused to look down, believing it would hold you up to the end. He only wanted you to consider what would happen if that line snapped. You knew things were on track to success. The possibility of falling was not an option. You made sure of it.

A murder of crows took flight and glided above. You both watched as they cawed and screamed, dotting the sky as they flocked south.

“I’ll be ok, Blue.” You stood, “I have you if that happens.”

He reached up to steady you as you took a careful step to the side of his face, “I’ll definitely be here for you.”

“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so upset. I don’t want to take this out on you.”

“It's alright, Eva. You’re allowed to feel angry and express it, as long as it makes you feel better.”

You found a safe place to sit, holding onto the little metal crevices here and there, “You’re too sweet to be my emotional punching bag. You’re like, five meters tall, you don’t have to put up with me.”

“I put up with you because that’s what friends do. I like you-” Bluestreak’s optics brightened as you leaned against the side of his face.

“It should bother me that you’re not human, but I think that’s why I like you so much.” Your hand dragged up and down the smoothness of his cheek, “You’re too good to me. I don’t deserve someone like you.”

He laughed shyly, “Aw, well, I…uh…of course you do. You’re really nice and don’t mind when I talk a lot. I want to stay here on Earth as long as you’re here.”

You pressed your face to the side of his, your other hand joined in this strange feeling of slightly warm metal. Your eyes closed as you felt his hand come up and cup the side of your body, pushing you more up against his face.

Ever since Henri’s accident, it was no surprise you shut yourself away from affection and reassurance from others. Your friends and family were the only ones who could get close, but no matter who, the warmth of others disturbed you. Secretly, you had laid beside Henri in the hospital bed, but more and more he started to feel different. He changed by just laying there, how his skin felt, his scent, the sound of his breathing, his _warmth_. You had not laid next to him in a very long while.

This was different. This _felt_ different. His warmth was not from flesh. It was all awkward angles and rough edges. These aliens were not made for hugging, but the soft whirr of gears betrayed his mechanical sigh of contentment. He was not human, but Bluestreak enjoyed your company, and you thoroughly enjoyed his. 

“Tell me one of your stories,” You breathed, but knew he could hear, “Tell me about Praxus again. I want to see what it looks like when I close my eyes.”

He didn’t answer as you caught onto the distant sound of a radio. It got louder as the familiar car drew closer. Bluestreak let down his hand as the radio cut off to allow a taunting voice, “Am I steppin’ on your game, Blue?”

You smiled wide as you leaned away from Bluestreak to sit straight, “Jazz! Good to see you!”

The scientist in you couldn’t look away as the black and silver car transformed into the bipedal autonomous being that made them so mesmerizing. He also knew your secret and posed just for you, “Oogle away, Baby girl.”

You snorted, “I don’t _oogle_. It’s a scientific curiosity.”

“Why you lyin’?” He had a swagger to his walk as he came up to the both of you, “Been all over lookin’ for you, Doc, but I see you gettin’ hit on. Need him to step off?”

You couldn’t stop the girlish giggle that bubbled up. You waved your hand bashfully, “Oh stop. I’m fine, we’re just talking.”

“Uh huh.” Jazz turned his attention to the mech, “Y’trollin on dangerous grounds, Blue. She’s a cold sparkbreaker.”

“I am _not_.” You objected, but couldn’t wipe off your shy smile or your pinked cheeks, “I was busy, and I couldn’t go out with you that night. Maybe if you were to ask again-”

“Naw, I learned my lesson.” He held up his hands, “I moved on. I’ll find another cute organic to call my baby girl.”

Jazz was the only one who talked to you like _he_ was human and _you_ were single. It was strange; maybe a little irritating at first, but his charisma melted you. It was when you and his soldier became actual friends was when he really laid on the charm. Secretly, you enjoyed it. Nothing would ever come of it, and it was because of that you allowed yourself these harmless flirts. Besides, having a giant mechanical alien that had no interest in your organic race in _that way_ call you beautiful did _wonders_ for your ego.

You crossed your arms, looking away in a dramatic show, “You won’t find another like me. You’ll come back.”

You all had a laugh and Jazz held out a fist. Bluestreak excitedly crashed his own against it in his favorite human greeting, rattling you off balance with a squeal.

Jazz was quick enough to steady you, taking you up with both hands cupped together from the other bot, “whoa, whoa! You gotta be careful with my girl.”

“That was your fault,” He muttered, “and she’s not _your_ girl.”

“Easy, my man. You’ll get’er back.”

You settled in his hands, finding yourself in that _trust-hold_ situation again. He brought you higher to his glowing visor as you spoke up, “Anyways, you were saying you were looking for me? Everything alright?”

“It's about that shipment of refined energon your facility wanted.”

Your heart jumped down in that dark empty pit in your chest, taking your breath hostage. You meant to speak louder, but could only manage a whisper, “Did something happen?”

His audio receptors picked up your tiny voice, and he did not fail to notice your rise in anxiety.

“It's early,” he grinned, “as in it will be here in three hours.”

....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> You feed the ducks by the lake, your heart nearly seizing at how they waddle-wobble and quack-quack and hnnnnggggg!  
> "Blue! Aren't these the cutest!"  
> Bluestreak is busy holding very still as birds perched all over him, "Oh - huurrgh - Oh Primus one just discharged - huuughh - it-it's getting between the seams - IT'S GETTING BETWEEN THE SEAMS!"


	2. Glowing personalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is just going so wonderfully well for you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, did some tag adjusting.  
> First time's always a little awkward, yeah?
> 
> And I had to cut this beast in half. You'll see the rest in two weeks.  
> Should I mention that? That this updates every other week?  
> Nah, I don't think I gotta.  
> ~  
> ~  
> ~

The alien ship was coming and everything you ever wanted was about to fall right in your hands. All your hard work, your dedication, it was all coming to a head. _About time_.

It was almost over. The long, lonesome days and nights where any free time you have is either slaving over work or dozing to the radio in your chair. You would watch television alone, but never really absorb the images; you shared your accomplishments with few, but you missed that prideful glint in your lover's eye; dinners were silent and alone, absent of those in-depth conversations about single-celled organism deficient of chlorophyll, reproducing only by fission.

It would all be over, it would all change.

No more would there be no one to hold, no one to fill that void in your life, your chest, your _bed_.

Your mind wandered to those glory days with Henri. The mornings and nights before and after work with him were the sweetest. The very thought of him with you again in such a way, after so long, sent a shiver of anticipation. He was perfect, doting on you since the days he admitted to loving you, and he did everything he could to make sure you felt it. Whether it would be from his voice and the words he would say, his smoldering dark gaze, his lips exploring yours, his touch-

“Are you feeling well, Eva?”

You jumped out of your skin, “Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Your core temperature is rising. Are you anxious?”

“I'm fine!” Your tone raised to a self-conscious pitch, checking yourself in the mirror. You had a nice blush on your face, having gone back to _those_ memories and feelings. You quickly changed the subject, “You’re staying, right? You won’t be heading back when the exchange is made?”

Bluestreak was silent a moment, “I would like to stay if you’re ok with that.”

“I want you to stay.” You unmindfully dragged your touch around the steering wheel, squeezing and stroking to help yourself move past that awkward moment, “You’re my friend. I would want Henri to meet the mech that helped me make it to the end.”

You traced the Autobot insignia displayed in the center, replaying in your head how Bluestreak really did a lot when it came to supporting you when things seemed bleak. You rubbed the leather up and down for a moment, slowing to a stop when you realized how quiet he was. He didn’t say anything while you waited for his slew of _what-ifs_. You patted his wheel, “Are you ok?”

“Ah, yeah!” He yelped, “Yes! Yes, I am fine. Are you fine? I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine. What were you saying?”

You let out an amused laugh and continued to drum on the steering wheel, “I _said_ I would like Henri to meet you.”

He agreed immediately, “Yes, yes. I would like to meet him too.”

“I should feel offended you zoned out for a bit there.” You teased, pressing on the center of the wheel to let out a little _honk_.

He cried out in a garbled protest and you laughed more. His voice raised over the speakers, “Don’t _do_ that! I _hate_ that! You’re always _touching_ , and _pushing_ and _digging_ and whyareyoualwaystouchingwhydoyouneedtotouchsomuchwiththosetinyservoswhy?”

You were in hysterics, sputtering and wheezing at his jumbled rant. You were unable to understand as Bluestreak lived up to his famed mouth. It was easy to get him worked up like this, where he ran his words together in an incoherent mess while you _actually_ laughed and enjoyed yourself – where you would forget how much things felt cold and empty.

“This bothers you? You can feel it?”

You ran your fingers over the wheel again, and he quieted to a mutter, “Nope. No, I don’t feel a thing – like, barely, _maybe_ just ahh... no, no I don’t feel a thing.”

“Are you lying? I’ll beep you if your lying.”

“No! That-that would be a silly thing to lie about. Just-just silly. Ridiculous!”

You held your stomach as you started laughing again. The anxiety started to fade, and the world outside those windows looked clearer, _brighter._

“Just...just don’t beep me again. I _hate_ that thing.” He grumbled, and you heard his laughter through the speakers. It was a beautiful sound. “And stop laughing at me! You’re a shameful little femme, always picking on me, _torturing me_.”

You smiled, feeling prickles of tears. Having this before the most important moment of your life was much needed. You didn’t want to spend the time in between doubting everything you felt so sure of. It will work. There are no _ifs_. This will be successful.

You blinked them away as he pulled into the facility. You exited the vehicle and felt your excitement mount at the hustle and bustle. This was the bittersweet part of knowing a few of the Autobots: you would be introduced to new faces while saying a few farewells to the friends you made. 

Military personnel and technicians alike were weaving around different vehicles, shipping containers, machines and the collection of Autobots that gathered. Your father was among the masses, going over a manifest of what would be leaving Earth.

You didn’t expect him to be out with all the noise and distractions, but you knew why. He glanced up at you from his paperwork, “I’ve been waiting. Let’s head to the lab and get back to work.”

Ever since you developed a rapport with a few of these aliens, he tried a little harder to keep you in check. You stood your ground, “I’m going to wait for the shipment and do a personal account for myself.”

“Leave that up to the techs.” His attempt to sound casual was weak.

“Until I get my shipment, there is not much else for me to do.” You countered.

“There is much to do.” His said, “Let the aliens do their exchange of their soldiers and supplies. I would hate for you to get...underfoot...”

You crossed your arms, steeling yourself. You saw the rolling of his working jaw, the furrow to his brow, and heard the growing gravel to his tone. He was about to go into _dad_ mode. You shook your head as a response.

Doctor Morgan let out an aggravated sigh, “Evalyn, I’m sure-”

“Dad.” You cut him off with a firm tone, “I’m staying out here. I’m saying my goodbyes. I’m overseeing the samples. That’s final.”

Your father held your steady stare with raised brows and that _look_. It was that glare that cowed you to obedience since you were a child. Once, it made you confess to underage drinking and sneaking out at night. It even worked on your friends, growing up. You heard his stern voice in your mind before he even opened his mouth, that made you unconsciously lean towards the exit.

 _No_ , not today.

You’ve been alone for the last four months, running the show, weathering the worst day of your life you experienced every year. This was _your_ day. _Your_ accomplishment. You were your own woman. The choices _you_ made were set in stone. You squared your shoulders to make a point.

He held his glare a little longer before letting out a disappointed sigh, shaking his head while turning away. He didn’t even glance back as he took the catwalk steps up to the balcony floor, nor did he pay any mind to the staff that prepared the area for housing your shipment. 

He only looked back over his shoulder as he entered the control room. He shook his head disapprovingly, but you gave a cheeky smile and waved. You’ll hear about this later, but this day would _not_ be ruined. You were so close.

“I was hoping you’d be here.” His docile voice and the softness of his tone triggered a little spark of glee within.

You eagerly turned with a wide smile “Cosmos, I’m glad to see you remember me.”

This Autobot was bulky without the ‘ _normal’_ face you relied so heavily on for reading expressions. Even though his faceplate left a blank appearance, his voice gave you all the hints needed, “Of course I remember you. You actually _talk_ to me. You didn’t think I read your messages? Those were the highlight of orbiting your atmosphere. I’m telling you, I’ll take you with me next time. Sending you messages just isn’t the same.”

You laughed a little at the lonely bot, “I enjoyed reading them though, and I’m pretty sure I’ll freeze to death if you take me out in space. I don’t think you’d be warm enough.”

“Oh, I can get warm. If I'm on the roster to stay, you gotta take some time off and come with me for a solar cycle. I’ll tell you about the time I almost crashed a ship into a sun-”

“Don’t get him started, Doc.” Another familiar voice, this one teasing with deep tenors you felt in the back of your knees.

You gave your attention to the approaching aliens, “Hound! Cliffjumper!”

The green plated mech gave you a respectful nod. He had the most firepower on him, and his deep and rumbling tone matched his bulk, “Eva, good t’see you.”

“How’s the engine running, girlie?” The smaller red one grounded out, tapping his fist to his puffed out chest.

You grinned, “I'm fine. Excited, actually. I feel like I hardly get to see you with patrols and all.”

“I only literally talked to you in person twice – twice! I’m sure you saw them more than you’ve seen me. But why would you be interested in the Autobot that can fly and _take pictures_...” Cosmos began spiraling down to his self-deprecating cynicism.

You looked over your shoulder up at the loft. You noticed the movement of people behind the viewing glass of the facilities control room. Your father was probably still in there, watching you with that disappointed frown that broke your heart. _No_ , you refused to think about it. You deserved to feel some happiness.

Turning back to the three, you couldn’t help but giggle as Cliffjumper reached up to whack Cosmos over the head. It quieted the brooder momentarily but started an argument. Bluestreak came over to join, greeting Hound with the fistbump he came to love. These aliens were so much like humans with their glowing personalities.

“Hey Eva, up high!” Cliffjumper held his hand over you.

You crossed your arms and turned away, “Oh no, I'm not falling for _that_ again.”

They laughed. They all laughed like college buddies, like old friends and you couldn’t help it. You laughed so hard, your vision blurred. You stood with them, because they became friends, because you would miss them if you knew you would never see them again. 

“Ok, ok, down low.” He held his hand palm up before you.

You gave a haughty tilt to your head, “You can shove-it _down low_ your tailpipe.”

They were in hysterics as Cliffjumper withdrew his hand in dramatic mock insult. It was moments like these that were so close to the events you had with Henri and your friends when they all would get together just to enjoy the atmosphere. Remembering times like that and how they never came again after his accident would make you cry. It felt good to laugh, and you’ve never smiled this much before meeting these strange and wonderful aliens.

In your search for distractions and found something worth _more_.

“That’s it!” Cliffjumper reached for you, “C’mere!”

“Don’t you dare!” You went on the defensive as he squatted before you, hands on either side as if preparing to catch a caffeine-addled kitten. His hand came close as you took a swing, and the other came in to prod your side harmlessly. You giggled relentlessly.

This scene was surely gathering attention for the surrounding staff, but you didn’t care what they thought. Technically, you _couldn’t_ care as this larger mechanical creature used the knowledge of that sensitive spot right down your ribcage, sending you in horrific spasms of laughter. Who the hell spilled your secret? It didn’t matter. These aliens became friends, whereas your coworkers were just that.

You didn’t care because everything was falling in place.

“Yo Eve!”

You froze and the horseplay stopped. There were only a few people in the world that called you by that name. One was in a vegetative state. You waved Cliffjumper back and turned slowly, “I hope you’re just visiting. Not that I'm unhappy to see you or anything.”

“Uh-huh.” The young man grinned with the cigarette between his teeth, “You look fuckin’ _ecstatic_.”

You visually dissected him. It was someone you’d rather not see at a time like this. Alan Faireborn, despite his unprofessional look and unruly demeanor, was not a bad guy at all. He would be welcomed if his occupation of Chief Technological Engineer didn’t state something completely different.

Jazz stepped up, holding down a fist to his level, “What's happenin’ little man?”

You watched Alan closely as he punched the Autobot’s fist. He wasn’t in uniform, but a black beater to show off his sleeves of tattoos. His attire wouldn’t tell you why he was here. From his unstyled mohawk to his multiple piercings he refused to remove per dress-code, it was hard to tell if he was working or just visiting.

You closed the distance, noting that he didn’t act like anything was wrong, “What's the toolbox for?”

“I'm working,” he shook his hand, rubbing his knuckles while muttering regretfully, “ _Oww,_ fuckin’ robots and their fuckin’ fist bombs.”

You needed to know why he was here, but he was obviously avoiding the subject with how he behaved so dismissively. “If you’re working, where’s the uniform?”

“The belt don’t count?”

“What are you doing here?” You pressed.

“I'm working!” Alan shook his toolbox in your face, “I don’t carry this for shits and giggles!”

 _Not today._ You shoved the metal box against his chest and jutted a finger in his face, breaking his cigarette, “You know damn well what I'm asking. I’ve been on this project for _years_. You being here means something went wrong.”

Alan loomed over you, “I see Henri’s a project now, _Doctor_ _Morgan_.”

You cowed in shame. Your old friend was an ass most times, but there were real moments where he spoke – _really_ spoke, and it would floor you.

“Hey!” Bluestreak defended you as valiantly as any robot-bestie, “She didn’t deserve that. She's under a lot of stress.”

“More like on the rag.” he grumbled, then groaned out a sigh before raising his voice, “Be seen and not heard for once. Yes, me being here means something went wrong. Henri’s life support program went fuckweird. One of your little minions touched it wrong, and it all became corrupt. I had to reroute his system to a terminal in the control room while his debugs. I got techs on it and his program is running smoothly now. Your team says he’s stable. Everything is _fine_.”

You sigh a breath of relief, but that turned quickly to embarrassment. Alan was an engineer extraordinaire, and even if he was not needed, he deserved to be here to see his brain-dead friend. You hadn’t seen him for months and he didn’t deserve this stigma that followed.

“Y’crazy metal-banging succubus.” He flicked his broken, but still-lit cigarette right at you. It singed the skin on your forehead, throwing tiny sparks as it bounced off. You shrieked and nursed the tender burn all while thinking that jerk _did_ deserve the stigma that followed.

He turned to the robots and his triumphant grin fell as he tilted his head awkwardly. The aliens were standing too close to where it felt like all he was looking at were codpieces, “Soo who’s heading to robo-space?”

Hound jutted a thumb at himself, “Ol’ me and Cliffjumper, I reckon.”

“Not enough action ‘round here.” The smaller red Autobot added, “Can’t wait to get back out there.”

Cosmos began, “I’ll probably stay to float around your planet and take more pictures of absolutely _nothing_ -”

Jazz reached out and gave him a firm pat, ending his turn to talk. “Unless I have different orders, I chill right here.”

“I’m staying,” Bluestreak said firmly.

You rubbed your forehead gingerly, looking up at your friends. Between Earth and their orbital station, the Autobots worked round the clock to defend, rebuild, and find an edge to turn the tides of war. This exchange program of rotating sentry was not only to transfer shipments of supplies and your people of science and technology, but to keep their soldiers from burning out. The fighting was much more intense out there than it was here. They didn’t even have a world to call home because of all this violence.

These were all fine soldiers, even the ones you weren’t closely acquainted with here in the facility. “I’ll miss you all. I really hope I get to see you again.”

Hound knelt, holding out his hand with his palm up, “I’ve heard this thing you humans do when they say g’bye.”

 _Oh great_. This was a fairly recent thing that started to catch like a brushfire. You stepped into his palm, holding onto his fingers for stability as you rose to his height. Hound brought you to the side of his face, “Wish this soldier luck, eh?”

“Only because you’re leaving,” You say with a huff. There was no use fighting it.

You did it once for Bluestreak before he went off to investigate an enemy sighting. Wrought with worry and lack of sleep, you did something you never thought you would ever do – nor think he would blab it to everyone he knew. The sniper managed to end the mission for him and his team in a matter of days with one lucky shot to an enemy scout leader, and thus began the rumor thanks to a few of the more _vulgar_ soldiers.

“Be safe, Hound. Come back.” Despite who could be watching, you leaned in and planted a peck to the side of his face. The metal was slightly warm, but the residue of dirt and oil had you rubbing your lips on your knuckles, “I’ll miss your stories.”

The Autobot chuckled bashfully. “Aw thanks for that, darlin’. I’ll miss telling ‘em t’yeh.” 

“Hey! What's that?” Cliffjumper looked up at you while Jazz had the biggest grin. Cosmos began a barrage of questions only for Bluestreak to stop him.

You felt a little self-conscious at the rush of this kind of attention but found relief in explaining, “It's a thing friends sometimes do when they won’t see each other for a while. It’s a gesture that shows you care.”

“What's this about luck?” Cosmos asked, “Is that based on scientific fact? Because if it's lucky, we need-”

“Oh, no, no, it's just a thing.” You cut him off, throwing Hound a smile as he brought you away from his face, “He just _thinks_ it's lucky.”

“The human soldiers say so.” He nodded to Bluestreak, who agreed.

“It is. I would know.” He pointed his finger at Cosmos like a gun, “You heard about that rogue ‘Con I took down with one shot? That was after a little luck from her.”

Blaring over the loudspeaker was an automated voice, “Control Reporting: Detected aircraft entering airspace.”

You gave a little gasp, twisting to look up at Hound, and with a smile, he set you down. Before you could leave the group, Cliffjumper stood in your path, “I want some luck, too.”

You stared a moment, unsure what he was asking before the loudspeaker blared again, “Confirmed friendly, designated Autobot. Signal landing strip active. Landing pad active”

“C’mon, before I have to go.” He urged as he bent down to your level.

You realized what he called _luck_ and huffed, “Why should I? You’ve been a jerk to me.”

“That just means I like you.” He planted his hand on the ground and turned his head, “I’m going to war, girlie. Don’t you want me to come back?”

“This is extortion.”

“This is survival.”

The voice boomed throughout the room, “Stand clear of landing area. Remain indoors.”

You were running out of time and were getting desperate. You ran up and planted a kiss on the side of his face, and took off wiping the grit from your mouth. You didn’t look back at Cliffjumper as you hurried up alongside Alan. 

The announcement came again as the wide metal door rolled open, “Stand clear of hangar door.”

It’s time.

It’s finally time to put things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *  
> *  
> *  
> Research notes in the form of texts <3  
> ~  
> ShySpider: Did people cuss alot in the 70s and early 80s?  
> SpiderMom: No. Seems like was in the later part of the 80s-90s. There was more respect back then and never said it around children like they do today.  
> Shy: Did people just not cuss while talking to another? To not cuss while communicating. Unheard of.  
> Birthgiver: Dad says watch "Full Metal Jacket" and "Apocalypse Now" and that should give you your answer.  
> SpiderWhut: OMG, have you seen FMJ?  
> ObliviousMa: I think? Why?  
> StunnedSpider: You would know if you did. Its a wholesome family friendly film that portrays love and perseverance. You should watch it, at least the first 10 min.  
> SuspiciousMom: Dad is laughing. He says he'll put it on for supper. g2g cook.  
> DeviousSpider: Ok, enjoy the shit out of your din-din and movie.  
> ScoldingMa: Don't make me ground you.


	3. Searching for distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bittersweet day of meeting new faces and saying farewell to old is coming to a close, but how it ends is not anything you would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible Trigger Warning: Inappropriate Slur***
> 
> An Author once wrote advice to make characters after people you know. I've literally never done that till I wrote this, and I have to say, it's pretty fun. 10/10, will do it again.  
> Not so much for the muse when you text them at 3am asking what they would do if someone broke your cigarette.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> 80s Fact: Computers and Technology - The very first IBM personal computer was released in 1981. With a migraine inducing monochrome monitor and two - TWO ports for your floppy-disks, you get to experience a whopping 256 kilobytes of maximum memory (converted to .256 megabytes, and roughly one minute of music equals 1MB, so are we looking at less than 30 seconds of a song? Choose wisely...), but of course the add-ons of expansion cards to achieve such a 'massive' amount of memory was not included with original purchase.  
> As for the computer games you could upload? Best just head down for the arcade and wait for a few more years.  
> .  
> .  
> .

Natural light spilled in, overtaking the large halogens hanging high above. A gust of cold wind blew your hair back, and where you should have shivered from the breezy bite, you trembled with excitement. _It was time._

The hangar door opened in time to show the large rocket hover over the tall and imposing landing-pad of alien make. Its thrusters blazed brightly as the ship hinged and connected with the gear of the Autobot’s structure. As the ignition died off and the thrusters cooled, the ones within the facility began filing out past you.

The rocket shuttle lowered its on-ramp, and within was what you needed to keep your promise. It was only a matter of time now before you were finally reunited. Everything you did was not for nothing. Alan said something, but you couldn’t hear over the sound of a booming voice from the ship vibrating your ribcage, “Bay four: Open. Please disembark.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, even when Alan grabbed your arm and led you closer. It wasn’t the disembarking of the newcomers, or how everyone interacted with one another as friends and partners came together. It was the clear containers of a shimmering liquid, swirling between pink, purple and blue, being rolled out on mobile pallets. It was beautiful. It was what would give you Henri back.

The space outside the landing area soon filled with crates upon crates of the fuel, as well as machines, supplies, and groups of people returning from the Autobot Orbital Station. While your people mingled with one another, you didn’t say a word as you fixated on the alien fluid. You were lost in how it flowed like mercury, performing the dance of the _Black Swan_ while glowing like fresh, moon-lit snow. Many times, you’ve seen it before, but this was different. There was something so much more about this shipment that seduced you.

Then it happened. It was the only thing that snapped you from this hypnosis. The thing that never got old. Watching the mechanical beauty of something so technologically advanced, something so alive, become something else entirely. Now empty, the large space shuttle _and_ landing pad transformed _together_ , combining to the largest Autobot you had ever laid eyes on. _Omega Supreme_.

“Damn,” Alan breathed, “Good thing these guys don’t take shits, am I right?”

There was no talking to this one. He was a titan among his own people, and according to Bluestreak, the last line of defense. He was a heavy hitter, a tank, a _monster_. He destroyed everything around him without reservation, but not because he wished ill on everything and anything, but because he was more along the lines of a bull in a china shop. He was indiscriminate, eyes only on the enemy.

Your eyes followed a jet zipping around the larger mech, pausing by his face to say words no one below was able to hear. Soon, Omega started taking his thunderous steps away from the human facilities, and presumably to their on-site base deeper into restricted property.

The jet then soared down, twisting and turning, molding and transforming in the air, landing a few meters away from you. You unmindfully brought your hand to your chest to still your pirouetting heart. This day just kept getting better and better. You recognized this alien with immense fondness as his blue optics brightened, “Greetings, Doctor Evalyn Morgan. It's nice to see you again.”

You blushed some at the sound of his voice. It was smooth and casual with a slight _down-under_ accent that made your knees shake just a bit. You looked away to brush your hair back, “Please Jetfire, just Eva. That’s never changed.”

Alan lit another cigarette as he rolled his eyes, taking steps to remove himself from the assembly line of mechs that carried supplies into the open facility.

“Forgive me, old habits. You did work hard for the title, though. It’s only proper.”

Jetfire was one of the first you had worked with since the beginning, and he was nothing but polite and gracious towards you. You basked in his intelligence and passion for his work, finding fascination in the fact there were like-minded aliens light-years away. He was one of the first you found yourself becoming attached to, finding the possibility of friendship with these beings was very real. Jetfire was genuinely upset when he was recalled back to base, leaving you with an impression that he liked your company as much as you liked his.

 _But that voice, though_. You sighed with a dreamy smile, looking the aerial-bot over appreciatively before noticing another approach. The white and black Autobot Commander roused not the fondest of memories. His tall red headspikes was a beacon to all on who he was, and many of your coworkers developed a complex involving police cars.

You forced your best smile, “It’s good to see you again, Prowl.”

Prowl was rigid, cold and pragmatic, but you didn’t have to deal with him as much, as your encounters were civil and brief. You remember the whimpers of the liaison every time he was messaged, and you heard stories of how he was demanding, rude, demeaning, and downright _unpleasant_. You had the luck of spending most of your time with medics and scientists.

He didn’t seem to notice you at first, clearly intending to speak to Jetfire as he handed him a datapad. He nodded pointedly at your small form, “Indeed.”

With your recent popularity with the soldier-types, you were bound to run into him more often. It wouldn’t hurt to make a good impression, so you tried a little flattery, “What's a superior officer like yourself doing here?”

“I'm here to rendezvous with Jazz.” He finally turned to you fully, standing with his hands behind his back in a very militant manner, “I will be taking his position here for a time... _again_.”

Your cheeks started to ache, trying your best to keep a fearless front. Before, Prowl made it clear he was unhappy to be stationed here and was relieved to be recalled. He being here again was more than likely due to his unpopular way of dealing with his own. You didn’t believe being sent to your planet would remedy it his icy demeanor, but here he was. Unhappy, _again_. 

You found yourself under his sharp, studious optics. It was an uncomfortable feeling in an even more uncomfortable silence, and you broke his gaze. Out of all the Autobots, Prowl had the most intimidating presence with his way of looking at you as a statistic. His sharp blue eyes and his authoritative demeanor demanded respect and caution.

“You have a small burn on your person.”

You exhaled so suddenly, it rocked you – not from fear, but surprise. You searched yourself before realizing what he meant. Your fingers gently grazed over the tender spot on your forehead and all professionalism went out the window, “Oh yeah, thanks to jerkface over there.”

You pointed at Alan. He crossed his arms and puffed out a stream of smoke from his nose, “Shouldn’t piss me off, woman. I warned you-”

The Autobot smoothly reached down and his digits plucking the cigarette right from his lips. The man cried out, not only with shock and terror that his face could have been pinched off, but that was the _second_ cigarette ruined today. “The _fuck_ fuzz-bot!”

Prowl rubbed his fingers together, the dried tobacco rained down and the ember smoldered, “There is no smoking in this facility. And the name is Prowl. You’d do best to remember.”

“I’m not in the gah-damn building!” Alan glared at you with the power of a thousand class-O stars, middle finger trembling with forces that could conjure a gravitational shift, “I'm doing this as hard as I can.”

You grinned and stuck your tongue out with a raspberry spatter as if you were a preteen again. Things felt good. You felt happy. The energon cubes were being hoisted and brought into the facility, and things were running smoothly. You felt wonderful. 

“Jazz is in the building, I presume?” Prowl didn’t say anything as Jetfire stepped away to read in a more peaceful environment.

“Afro-bot is coordinating the supplies-”

“Alan.” You scolded, “Stop giving them nicknames.”

“They already _have_ nicknames.” He scoffed, “Cosmos? Jazz? Hound? Fuckin’ _Prowl_? Sounds like names you get from a frat-house hazing.”

“It’s offensive.” You hissed, “Just – just go inside and make sure no one is messing around with your terminal.”

With one last glance at the glaring Autobot, he started back inside the building while muttering, “Better fuckin’ not, I put up a sticky-note.”

You timidly turned back at the mech who’d be calling the shots. He had his arms crossed, not looking very pleased. _Great start of a beautiful friendship._ You let out a nervous laugh, “I apologize for his behavior. He’s really good at his job; it’s just...please ignore him.”

“It’s difficult not to.”

You cringed, “I – I won’t hold you up any longer. Let me get out of your way.”

“Join me.” He said, unexpectedly, “I’ll prefer to work with you than our assigned, albeit _skittish_ liaison. I will need you to give me the report of your manifest to ensure it’s a match to ours.”

“Of course,” You said a little too eagerly and started for the large facility. You threw a positive note over your shoulder, “I’m always willing to assist your people. I’ve been working closely with a few – even made some friends.”

As you winced how desperate that sounded. You both entered the bustling warehouse floor, Prowl didn’t acknowledge anything you said and stepped up to Jazz, handing him a datapad. Without a word, the newly appointed officer walked away and started slinging orders to others.

You watched as the Autobot you called a friend continued to stare at the pad. You took a few hesitant steps towards him, “Jazzy?”

“Oh?” His head snapped up, “Oh, Eva. Did you need something?”

You smiled sadly, “You ok?”

He vented out a long sigh, “Looks like I'm taking off, doc.”

“I know.” You closed the distance, “I’m sorry. I’ll miss you.”

“How ‘bout you give this bot some luck, eh?” He grinned, but there was a tinge of sadness within, “A little g’bye present for your boy?”

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing around, “You know as well as I, it’s just a rumor. There’s nothing lucky about it.”

Jazz knelt, hand already out and waiting for your consent, “Then how ‘bout just a nice farewell between friends?”

You tried your best to reign back that thousand-kilowatt smile as he called you _friend_. Aptly convinced, you stepped closer and nodded. He scooped you up and stood tall, giving you the incredible view of everything and everyone below. Your heart swelled at the sight of people and aliens chatting and sorting supplies, materials and everything else that came from the AOS. What made you teary-eyed was the containers of liquid energon stacking up on the loft beside the control room. You weren't sure whether you could call this day bittersweet or not.

Jazz boosted you upon his shoulder, and you settled quickly while he glanced over the datapad one last time. The neon writing was completely foreign to you but not any less fascinating. You leaned in curiously, steadying yourself on the side of his helm, “What’s it say?”

He hummed out a slight chuckle, and where the words should have had more joy behind them, they were hollow, “Nothing special. Optimus congratulated me on running my unit without any injuries or casualties. Relations with your people are running as smooth as ever. The medic reported my team’s morale is higher than ever...”

“That’s all good news.” You gave a few pats, “Nothing special? Your boss just recognized that you’ve done a good job. Pat yourself on the back.”

He angled his head slightly, you saw your reflection in his visor, “I had help.”

“What’s wrong with that? Give credit.” You said, “The one thing I’ve learned working with a team is that sometimes we’re stronger together than alone and that we all have our strengths and weaknesses. There’s no shame in recognizing your successes would never be possible without the assistance of another.”

He was silent for a long moment, and you awkwardly allowed him to gaze before clearing your throat and readjusting your hair-bun, “It’s not polite to stare.”

“I’m just thinkin’ of how I’m going to report to Prime.” A mischievous grin started to split his face, “Bout how I managed to spread a rumor about a certain organic femme that’s friendly and lucky, giving them the confidence they need on the field; ‘bout how I encouraged my men to socialize with the same human, leavin’ it to her to somehow convince many organic-phobic mechs that humans ain’t so bad.”

You blinked, “Who did you...oh. _Oh,_ you... _you!?_ ”

You shot up to unsteady feet, nearly stumbling over and pressing your hands on the side of his face. His hand came up to prevent your demise, but you were too busy keeping your screeching to a hiss, “You did this!? You? Do you know how awkward- _ugh_! I thought-I thought they _wanted_ to talk to me-”

“Well, now they do.” His fingers curled around your waist, wiggling you tauntingly, “C’mon Baby Girl, don’t be mad. We both win. My numbers look good and you made some friends. Don’t act like you didn’t get anything outta this.”

You huffed, defeated. _You were searching for distractions and found friends._

“There we go.” He gave a little squeeze, pulling you off his shoulder and angling his palm so you could sit comfortably. He brought you to his face where you could see his disarming smile in its entirety, “I’m Special Ops, it’s my job to find any way to give us an edge. I’m just lucky I found someone like you.”

You turned your head away, trying not to feel flattered, “You could say you used me.”

“Maybe at first.” He admitted, “But a lot of us found a friend because of it.”

That stung. How were you any different? Within diversions, you made bonds in the unlikeliest of places. You turned back to face your reflection in his visor, reaching up to press your hand against the glass, “Then you better make it up to me. I expect to see you again.”

“Anything for you, sparkbreaker.”

You smiled softly, “If you don’t keep safe, you’ll be the heartbreaker.”

Elsewhere, among the bustle of stacking the energon cubes for the humans, few noticed the exchange, and even fewer recognize the human.

“What's Doctor Morgan doing?” One with a youthful voice, yellow color, and stocky build asked as he passed another.

“Who’s that? The human with Jazz, what did you call it?” One asked.

A red Autobot followed with an energon container in hands, “That’s Eva. She’s one of the humans that’s studying energon.”

“Big deal.”

“No, she’s super nice for a fleshy. She should still remember me.” The same red one watched for a moment, holding the cube, “I don’t know what she’s doing, but I want in.”

Another yellow colored one grumbled, “You’re not serious. Human contact… _ugh._ ”

“Don’t knock it till y’try it, bro.” He hurriedly dropped the container upon the stack of others.

You were placed back upon the Autobot’s shoulder. From this vantage point, you noticed the staff and scientists were on the upper tier overlooking the warehouse. They stayed out of the alien’s way, and far from the energon. Many were probably in the control room, pressed against the windows and monitors. Those in military uniform were more comfortable among these titans, walking on the ground level and chatting with the mechs – many they have already served with. 

None of what was happening below really concerned you. What did was the familiar red and gray Autobot storming up with purpose, his hand outstretched and expectant like a child demanding candy.

“Hey, Jazz! Pass her over here.” He reached to take you as you would a toy.

You gripped onto Jazz’s plating and yelped, “No Sideswipe! Gentle! You can't just grab me!”

Sideswipe and you met some time ago, and you did not have fond memories of him. It was a quick assist from Jetfire, letting you climb into his hand from the ground floor to the upper catwalks of the warehouse. You didn’t think much of letting a large mech give you a boost, but it was something Sideswipe witnessed. He assumed too much as he decided to pick you up without any prompt whatsoever, unknowingly rough with his tight grip. Jetfire interveined while you were having the words crushed out. 

Jazz stiff-armed him as you desperately hung on to his shoulder plate. People below were scattering away from the rambunctious bots.

“Damn girl!” You protector drove an elbow in Bluestreak’s chest as he tried to play the hero.

You nearly screamed, feeling metal constrict around your body. The floor below fell away fast as you were lifted from the potential danger.

“Thank you for breaking up the sparklings,” Prowl said, regarding the aerial Autobot, then averting his optics on the three. 

You breathed out your relief as Jetfire hovered, retreating back little ways away from the shoving match before landing. He set you safely upon his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“Of course, Doctor. I hope I didn’t scare you too much.”

“No, no,” You leaned over, lowering your voice, “For a moment, I thought Sideswipe got me.”

Jetfire let out a rumbling chuckle at your attempt to calm yourself. He tilted his head, “Do you require medical?”

“I'm okay,” You took a few breaths, “Just get my mind off how I could have been squeezed like a tube of toothpaste. Tell me, how you are doing? I haven’t heard much about you since you left. Have you started on any new projects?”

As Jetfire began, Prowl below was reprimanding Sideswipe, his yellow brother stepping over to give his own punishment by whacking the bot behind the head. Then the Commander turned to Bluestreak, “You look unprepared.”

“For what?”

“To depart for Orbital station.”

Bluestreak shook his head, “I want to stay.”

“You’ve been away long enough. Too long, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Send Sunstreaker,” he countered, “He doesn’t even want to be here!”

“No, I don’t.” Sunstreaker agreed, “I requested _not_ to come.”

“And he hates humans. Why would he even be assigned to work with humans when he _hates_ them?”

“I’ve asked myself that exact question.”

Prowl crossed his arms, looking between the two, “You’re missing the point. I'm not asking for volunteers. I was given orders from _Optimus Prime_. Now _I'm_ ordering _you_ – return to the AOS.”

Bluestreak looked over. Sideswipe managed to meander away to give you apologies and promises. You agreed to let him handle you, and he just seemed so enthralled with watching you in his palm. You appeared nervous with his childlike fascination, but that’s not what Bluestreak was concerned with.

“Things might not work out with her project. She needs me here. I can't leave her.”

“Take it up with Optimus. Not me.” Prowl said with finality as he walked away.

Sunstreaker and Bluestreak exchanged looks, and the yellow bot shrugged with a defeated sigh, “You know I would trade with you in a nanosecond.”

“I know,” he grumbled, staring longingly across the warehouse at you, “Doesn’t mean he needs to be a ventwipe about it.”

You smiled up at Sideswipe. He brought his other hand up to steady you. He was shifting around too much, and you were sure to instruct him, “You need to keep still. Easy when you move-”

“Eve!”

The urgency in his shout had you instantly find Alan as he pointed up at the balcony, “We have a big fucking issue!”

Everyone stayed clear of the volatile containers of energon, and more so out of the path of the Autobots as they stack them up high on the upper tier. No one noticed the glitter of the alien substance that dripped down the wall side and into a near translucent shimmering puddle

Then your eyes spotted the glinting trail following the wall along the lab's walkway and ending at the doors.

“The…the energon.” You barely breathed, “it's leak…leaking.”

Either Sideswipe tilted his hand, or the world decided to change its center of gravity. Every bit of that liquid was precious, the key to the end of your hard work, your suffering, and your loneliness. It was the key to your reward, to having Henri back.

It was rated as dangerously explosive.

You finally found your voice and cried out, “It's leaking into control!”

It hit you. Above all your obsessing over the project and the love of your life, it hit you so hard, you had to gasp for air. Everyone was in there, working, watching, _judging_. Your coworkers were in there. Innocent people were in there. Your father was in there.

“Control!” You screamed, “The _Control Room_!”

Alan glared upwards. He was no stranger to this substance. A highly volatile, unstable and unpredictable alien material was pouring into a lab full of people and electronics. What's the worst that could happen?

“Fuck my life.” He grounded out, and then hollered, “We need to evac the area!”

Those in military uniform moved to follow evacuation procedures. No one argued with _who_ gave the order or questioned what needed to be done. Everyone worked together, including those where were not native to the planet.

Prowl had the Autobots follow suit to assist in escorting humans. Staff and scientists started arguing with both military personnel and the large autonomous machines to start taking their projects as well. _Scientists._

You had different worries. Henri was far on the other side of the building and not in immediate danger. Your father, however, may still be in the control room. “Take me over there.”

Sideswipe looked down at you, visibly confused, “You could get hurt-”

“Do it!”

Yelling was not common for you, and it made him jolt. He hurried up to the balcony full of people streaming out to take the stairs, standing in the puddle of energon as you called out, “Doctor Morgan? Has anyone seen Doctor Morgan?”

As you were receiving unsatisfactory responses, Sunstreaker stormed up “What are you doing? We’re evacuating – let’s go.”

Sideswipe tilted his head at the culprit. You snapped, “No! My father-”

You stopped abruptly, unable to speak. Every muscle seized up in an intense, painful contraction that burned and torn on a molecular level.

The entire warehouse lit up in a sudden spray of sparks, cascading a beautiful light dancing all around. The surge of electricity ran from the control room down the liquid path to the shipment of energon. The current continued down the small waterfall of the leaking substance, traveling up and taking hold of the two machines, and the small human in their company.

You were experiencing electrocution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> Prowl glared at Jazz, "I don't understand, giving the humans technology is a clear violation of the Tyrest Accord."  
> "Nah, man - look." The bot tapped a machine with his foot, and it lit up, "The humans think this is some revolutionary code-configuring device for their military, when in fact its actually just some old Staniz game that makes you follow a sequence of lights and sounds."  
> "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"  
> They turned to see Alan pop up from behind a shipping container.  
> "You guys have SIMON SAYS?!"


	4. A bad narration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The taste of iron and the smell of burning hair seems so distant as key events flash before your eyes in a clunky form of thick exposition peppered with the Scientist side of you spitting related facts - all culminating to the moment before your untimely demise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of research went into the below. Hope you all learn a bit, and retain these nuggets of wisdom next time you try to rewire an outlet.  
> .  
> .  
> .

This was not how you imagined things would turn out.

You didn’t experience anything so cliché as your _life flashing before your eyes_ , but something a little more overwhelmingly disappointing. The key events that brought you to this moment blipped by this transient space, holding you hostage to witness things you had already known – why were you seeing all this? You already _knew_ all this. It was like a bad narration to an equally bad film. All this, peppered with facts and statistics you thought you had long forgotten, but the Scientist in you needed to cope with this inevitable truth that you were _dying_.

_Electrocutions have accounted for seven percent of all fatalities, both within the workplace and in the home._

In the beginnings of your life, you were fascinated with the things your father would bring home for you. You knew you wanted to do something where you could use that brilliant brain of yours, where you could solve mysteries of a scientific equivalent, where you could break the domestic mold others seemed to expect you to fill. As you planted two firm feet, stoutly declaring your dreams, you would receive that demeaning pat on the head. _Wait till your married_ , others would say, _you’ll become a wife and won't have the time_. Your father never debased your dreams, and your mother had always supported you. When she passed to cancer, you knew what you wanted to do. You wanted to save people from behind a microscope. You didn’t want a single soul to go through what you had. 

_Electrical accidents of both the workplace and home averages to four hundred and eleven deaths per year._

Henri Arkeville was with you since you could remember. He was the quiet boy that would come over and you would play with the collection of laboratory equipment your father brought you. His father and yours were a team, and it was just natural your mom took over the maternal role of his absent mother. As you aged and gained more friends through your young life, Henri remained at your side. He had the same aspirations as you, the same passions, and that respect of your life’s choices to leap from the domestic path. Love didn’t come till much later, but you had always felt he was _the one_. It just felt right when you started dating, testing out the motions of being in a relationship.

_A current of ten milliamps provides a severe shock. About thirty milliamps of electrical current causes respiratory paralysis. Approaching one hundred milliamps causes muscular contractions._

You never knew _exactly_ what your father did until you were hired. You knew he was a Nuclear Physicist that worked in a government laboratory. His job consisted of the technical assessment of alternatives to nuclear power, fossil fuels, and more. It seemed concise and straightforward. You remember how upset he was to hear about the Three Mile Island incident, where the nuclear power plant went into partial core meltdown. You knew he was affected when the movement to ban testing and deployment of nuclear weapons in space was put forth, and when campaigns forced the Reagan administration’s Strategic Defense Initiative to scale back on their “Star Wars” program.

_Muscular paralysis is imminent at one thousand milliamps – equal to one full amp – and the heart experiences ventricular fibrillation._

Now, you _knew_. It wasn’t _straightforward_ and _concise_. It was complex and dangerous and _revolutionary_. Those major events that occurred, your father worried that it would affect his work. Together with Doctor Arkeville, they study ways to promote clean, safe renewable energy and the technological advancement of man. What they had to work with? Alien technology and engineering. The fuel? _Energon_.

_An electrical current of two thousand milliamps, or two amps, produces burns and unconsciousness. Internal burns are now imminent._

How the Autobots made first contact, you weren’t too sure. Technically, no one had one-hundred percent of the story. The right people got with the right people and made the right things happen. Now your government had the most beneficial deal any nation could dream of. Your people provided safe passage to mine this strange fuel from the depths of your world, assistance in researching alternative sources of energy to power their systems, and military backing to a possible threat on your doorstep. In exchange, these aliens provided a limited amount of their technology, access to a restricted supply of this finite fuel, and their protection on said enemy forces you had never encountered. Your people were naturally wary, but the payoff of making leaps and bounds in fields such as military, scientific, technological, mechanical and now medical – _your_ department – was well worth it.

_With respiratory paralysis, the brain is deprived of oxygen. The average healthy human can go one to two minutes without oxygen, before falling into unconsciousness._

Unprocessed energon ore was a ticking time-bomb and required a delicate hand your people did not possess. These aliens had means to extract this volatile mineral and had ways to process it. Untreated raw energon was, at best, an unstable fuel with no harmful waste. Treated energon was revolutionary, engineered to power anything and everything; the world would thrive on this new fuel. A refined energon synthesized with modern medicine was breathtaking. Cell growth was possible. Nerve endings restored, organ regeneration and most diseases completely cured, if not treated. Granted, the side effects were still a work in progress and success was not guaranteed. The failures still outweighed the risks. Human testing was out of the question.

_The average human can survive three to six minutes of oxygen deprivation before damage to the brain sets in. Risk of disabilities rises the longer it takes for revival. Survival lessens._

A year after Henri’s accident, his father moved him to his laboratory on government property. Yours used everything in his power to hire you. The job description was _unexpected_ , if there was any word for it. It was something forced on you all in one big helping, not something gradually introduced over a span of days. Giant autonomous mechanical aliens existed; you were to study their alien fuel and use your prowess to research its effects in a medical aspect – all _on_ your fiancé. It would be a wild exaggeration to say you politely refused. Forget the fact he was brain-dead for a year, he was strong and intelligent, and he would never leave you alone. By the persuasive grace of your father, though, you agreed to stay on and research while _not_ conducting any testing on human subjects.

_Six hundred volts can rupture the human body, splitting open flesh to the skeletal structure below._

Over time, you began to enjoy the distractions this provided. You made more progress within the first few months than the two old scientists had in a year. The amount of failed experiments was nearly reduced by half. What did you do differently? You involved the aliens. You learned as much as you could from them, worked eagerly alongside their scientists, and treated them as partners in your quest to keep your fiancé’s condition far from your mind. You developed bonds. You developed fascinations. You developed a penchant for sporty cars and fast jets.

_Most people can survive second-degree burns at seventy percent of their body. Odds decrease at third-degree burns on fifty percent of their body._

Many more months would pass before uncovering the possibility of restoration. Brain cell and stem repair could be on the list of what your breakthrough discovered, and where there were risks, you knew you could reduce them to a safe variable while Henri waited. It was a tough thing to accept, but he was not going to wake on his own. He needed your _help_. You called Doctor Arkeville at three A.M to change your answer. The next day you were promoted Lead Biomedical Researcher and given a team of specialists.

_Skin grafts are an option for severe burns, taking up to five weeks to heal properly._

It was all coming together. Years of endless hours, changing the ratio between failure and success, and the grueling determination to not only change the world but right your wrongs. The sleepless nights and whispered promises that you would reunite with the man you loved, it was all tangible. He would wake up and things would go back to the way they were. He would put on his lab coat to join you and complete the dream together. You would save lives together.

_The most common complication of skin grafts is a hematoma. Other complications include infection, mechanical shearing forces, inadequate recipient bed vascularity, seroma, poor selection of skin graft location and technical error._

You would return to the nights holding one another, talking endlessly about anything and everything, and he would remind you he loved you. You would return to the quick dinners and savored desserts. Your friends would come back and celebrate and party harder than that famed college graduation bash. Those summer nights sitting around a fire while enjoying the atmosphere more than the beverages would happen as if he never left.

 _Once the heart falls into cardiac arrest, defibrillators can be utilized to save victims of electrocution._ _Chances of survival are scant, but redeemable if the victim receives immediate attention._

But he did. You let him storm out while you accused him of being an enabler. You argued, but you could have hidden his car keys. You could have done anything other than slam the door behind him. Could you go back to the way things were? Would he blame you as you blame yourself? Could you go back to those nights, sitting around a fire while holding hands?

_Technical Engineer Alan Faireborn is certified and qualified to work a defibrillator device._

It was a question you asked yourself as smoke wafted up your nose. Your clothes began to smolder as an unnumbered amount of electricity coursed through. Your vision started to go black, and your mouth locked open. All you wanted was to scream, but nothing came out and nothing went in. You couldn’t breathe. Alan and Bluestreak called your name, but you could only hear this crackling buzz so loud, it should shatter your eardrums.

_Technical Engineer Alan Faireborn is unable to reach you. You are going to die._

Bluestreak moved. He leaped forward, yanking you from Sideswipe’s palm before his circuits overloaded. He managed to toss you just before his body locked up. 

Cliffjumper caught your limp form just as the shipment of energon exploded. He shielded you from the blast, debris clanking off of him like enemy fire.

“Autobots!” Prowl shouted, “Neutralize that fire! Search for survivors! Find our people!”

Cliffjumper set you down gently, but you just flopped to the floor like a wet sock. He started to panic, “Muh-Medic! I need a human medic! Now!”

His voice was underwater. Everything was muffled by a constant ring. You were faintly aware of his presence but couldn’t move to look at him, let alone open your eyes more to take in the blurry surroundings. You couldn’t feel anything besides this intense heat that blazed all over your body. Your fingers tingled at the touch of the cool floor, and you moved them over the smooth concrete.

That’s when your world was rocked from side to side. Alan turned you, working off your lab coat to look you over, and then pressing his ear to your chest. You felt nothing, only the annoyingly painful prickle of vibrations work their way from your fingers to your arms.

He must have heard your pumping heart and decided against chest compressions. He propped you up against a still kneeling – still worried – Cliffjumper. Ignoring the frantic bot, Alan gave you a shake, “Eve? Eve!”

The tingling traveled over your shoulders and chest, slowly like creeping ants, biting and gnawing and tearing into your pores. It hurt. It burned. You wanted to move, to brush them off. The muscles in your arms twitched, trying to fight this paralysis.

“Eve! Stay with me!” Alan slapped your cheeks, one and the other, a little harder than intended - or not, considering who it came from. It got the result he wanted. Sensations exploded across your face as you gasped. The world became a little more real. Sounds became clear and the ants began to leave your body.

“Thank God! Can you hear me?”

The tingling traveled down your legs and feet, leaving a wake of pain that soon faded away to itching. You blinked away the blurred vision and finally found the ability to move your arms. Your hands clutched your stomach at this sudden and violent lurch of nausea.

Alan held your head to check your eyes, “Eve, fuckin’ say something.”

“What happened?” You managed to say with your tongue dry and swollen. In that moment, your thoughts turned to this insatiable thirst. Cool, refreshing water to soothe the heat on your skin, quench the desert in your mouth and calm your churning belly.

You blinked as things started to come together. Your eyes traced the engineer’s filthy and bleeding face, then looked past him at the daylight shining through where a wall should be. The side of the building suffered a large hole, pouring out thick smoke.

“They are offline.”

Everything stopped: the nausea, the pain, the blurred vision and the ringing in your ears. It all stopped and sharpened as you realized what just happened. The energon exploded. How? No, this couldn’t have happened, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

You struggled to stand, and with Alan’s help, you were able to see the destruction. The control room was gone, half of the balcony was gone, and among the rubble were the three lifeless mechanical bodies being tended to by their comrades. All around you, the Autobots and humans worked together to frantically search for survivors, calling out names and moving chunks of metal and concrete.

“Eve – you alright? Eve!”

Finally, you acknowledged him, “Offline? He said offline. That means-”

Alan grabbed your face, enunciating each word, “ _You_ were _electrocuted_ , are _you_ ok?”

You swatted his hands away with returned strength, “I’m not ok! What happened? Dad was in there!”

“I know, but listen!” He grabbed your arm and started to lead you to towards where there used to be the loft of the second floor. The metal curled and twisted with stone and rebar, all covering up where there once was a door. “Right now, I need you to realize Henri’s system was linked to that lab. There’s no backup.”

The world went silent. A clear purpose called to you. You shook off Alan’s grip and searched for a way through the debris, yanking away chunks of concrete and cutting yourself on shrapnel. Enough was moved, allowing you to squeeze through into the corridor that led deeper into the facility, and where Henri was possibly dying.

Henri, the man you loved, the man you committed years of your life and devoted your new career to. It started to sink in as you ran down the red-lit corridor: the project could fail. The energon was gone. Half of the facility was gone. Now, Henri could follow.

You took a sharp turn, dodging people running in several directions under the flashing emergency lights. The alarm then began blaring and the speakers announced evacuation protocols.

Henri couldn’t die. Not like this. There was so much more at stake, so much research and time put into him and this project. You shoved people aside, barreling through the masses. His room was just up ahead, the doorway crowded with the familiar faces of some of your staff.

As they slowed to a stop, Alan was the one to speak what was on your mind, “Why the fuck ain’t you in there?!”

They only looked at you with wide, horrified eyes. One pointed in the room with a trembling hand. You pushed your way in with Alan on your heels.

“Oh…” Was the only sound he could muster.

The man who was brain-dead earlier that day was sitting up. He panted like a marathon runner, holding his freshly yanked-out ventilator. He started coughing up phlegm mixed with bright blood and pulled out his feeding tube from his nose.

Henri Arkeville was awake.

The project was a success.

You rushed up to him, barking orders to your staff, “We need to move him to the other facility, now! He could be aspirating! Who let him rip out his ventilator? We could have a tracheal tear!”

Henri looked up at you, noticing for the first time, “What…what happened? What…what did…you say?”

He looked at you with abnormally bright blue eyes, confused and scared as he flinched away from your quick approach. You couldn’t contain your smile as you reached out to touch him. Your fingers tingled as they drew up along his face, “It’ll be ok, Henri. I’m here-”

He recoiled, striking your hand away, his glare sharp as though you were a threat. You jumped back, more from shock than the force. Alan immediately came up behind you as Henri’s breath quickened, “What- What did you call me?”

He didn’t recognize you, and he didn’t know who he was. You stepped up to him, preparing yourself. The Scientist in you knew this was a possibility, and you had a plan. You were ready to give him everything from both your medical expertise and the support of your deep and enduring love. If it meant caring for a man who suffered amnesia, you were ready. All that mattered was that the man you loved was alive. 

“I called you by your name. Do you remember me?” You were hopeful. In time, maybe he’ll gain his memories. This was a possibility you accounted for, and you already had a therapy plan in place. You weren’t going to give up on him, not now. Not _ever_. He was alive, and he would be with you. That’s the only thing you ever wanted since he left the house so long ago and didn’t come back.

“I _know_ who the frag you are!”

You stepped back into Alan. You weren't sure what exactly you heard, but it made this dark pit well from within. Subconsciously, you were screaming and you didn’t know why.

Henri looked down at himself, and then at his hands. He whimpered and cried out, “What happened to me?!”

As he wailed and tore at his medical gown, ripping out needles and tubes, you couldn’t move. You watched in horror as this unsettling queasiness returned in force, bubbling and rolling in this storm of uncertainty. The man you loved – this was the man you loved. What was he saying? You couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“His eyes...” Alan’s hand fell on your shoulder for support, his mouth gaped, “That’s fuckin’ impossible.”

What was impossible? You started shivering as this black thing lurched in your guts. His eyes were always blue, that bright electric blue that seemed to glow. Right? _Right!?_

The warbled voice of Henri cried out, “Why am I in a human body!?”

That thing in your stomach surged and brought you to your knees. You vomited on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -  
> -  
> Gloria Gaynor's "I will survive" plays appropriately in the background.


	5. A moment to spare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your world is falling apart, the edge seems the most inviting of places. As you wallow in this pit, who will throw you the rope?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: You may interpret some thoughts as suicidal.
> 
> If this chapter makes you sad - so very sorry. Would you like to know that things get better? I would promise you, but it's just that hearing your cries of agony makes me feel better about my broken lawnmower.
> 
> <3

It would have been a lovely view.

The sun was setting along the vast stretch of woodlands. Not a single city in sight to obstruct the fiery blurred line of impending dusk. Watching the sunset wasn’t particularly special for you. It was the launching of Omega Supreme that brought you to the helipad upon Facility B. Where you would have found some way to join the aliens at their base, standing among titans with a childlike giddiness that made you grateful you said _yes_ to this position. But no, you were _here_ , far away from everyone. The Autobot base was deep into the thick of this government property, and from there, the Omega Supreme’s shuttle mode launched. Your bloodshot eyes traced the Autobot-turned-ship as he tore through the sky, leaving a bright red wound in his wake.

_“I’m sorry, Baby Girl, we have to leave. Prowl insists he has things under control, and...and we’re needed out there. You understan’, right, Doc? I’ll...I’ll keep in touch with ‘em to make sure things are goin’ good, ok? I’ll do what I can from the other side and send some help. Hold out f’me, Baby, I’ll see you again.”_

You jerked your head to the side, trying to rattle out the memory of Jazz’s voice. You understood why they had to go, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. He said he would send help, but you didn’t want help. You wanted to be _replaced_. As your gaze swept over the damaged facility, smoke still pluming in thick waves, all you could think of is how you _failed_ , and how someone better needed to fix your mess.

The lot below you was littered with trucks and flatbeds hauling everything between rubble and damaged machines – the majority of it all being from your lab. The control room was linked to several other projects, and thus you were not the only victim. Military and staff of all kinds still scrambled, trying to save whatever directive was important to them, but no one quite knew what was important to _you_. No one _knew_ what that explosion cost you, as classified work wasn’t usually discussed amongst colleagues of different departments.

The last ambulance left for the hospital within the city. Everyone was accounted for, the living and the dead. Everyone, including your father. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself on the rail that separated you from the sheer drop down to a slab of concrete. The feeling of nausea returned as the surgeon’s words replayed:

_“We managed to inflate his left lung after removing the rib that punctured it. He is breathing now, but not without a machine. His sternum and pelvic bone both needed pins. Unfortunately, he did lose a kidney, and we had to amputate his left leg. The burns are extensive, but we are positive the grafting will be successful…”_

Last night was chaos and the day was not any better. It was a nightmare that went on for too long.

Infighting and arguing ensued. Doctor Arkeville was unharmed during the accident, being in one of the neighboring facilities. He shamed you, blaming your inattentiveness with the shipment. If you hadn’t been _lollygagging_ with those aliens, the ones you were instructed to keep your relationships strictly professional, you would have noticed the cracked and leaking containers. If you would have listened to your betters and behaved, followed instructions like a good girl, this might not have ever happened.

Doctor Arkeville promptly left you be after Alan threatened to _fist his face_. All in a span of a night, everyone was at each other’s throats, but _you_ were to blame. You _knew_ this was your fault. The old Doctor was right. If you had been paying attention, your father wouldn’t be in critical care, the Autobots wouldn’t have lost one of their own, and you wouldn’t have failed your fiancé. There was so much other research lost, projects destroyed, tests contaminated, and results inconclusive. People were hurt, few were dead, departments and teams were shocked and mourning and in complete disarray.

It was entirely _your_ fault.

The weight of it made your head spin, and you leaned more against the ledge, feeling the wind whip up the wall and slap your face. Fresh tears stung your dry, raw eyes, and you squeezed them shut. You nearly felt like you were floating as the cool breeze buffeted back your tangled mess of hair. If your hands weren't white-knuckled on the railing, you would have thought you were falling. You almost wished you were as you remembered trying to quell the infighting, especially between Prowl and Doctor Arkeville:

 _“That is my son’s body. He stays on Earth. You have_ no _say.” The man argued with the large machine._

 _“It's my soldier’s spark within. I_ have _say.” Prowl looked like he would kill him with his icy glare alone. You moved, stepping closer to offer what you could in regards of sincerity, but it all froze in this lump of ice in the back of your throat as soon as the Autobot Commander snapped his gaze on you. You opened your mouth to speak, forgetting the basic concept entirely. The corner of his lip curled in disdain, “What?”_

_You sucked in a noisy breath before saying unsteadily, “Please, Prowl. Please. I advise you removing-”_

_“Of course you would recommend the vessel remain. I don’t see how you primitive organisms have the ability to reverse this malfunction,” he crossed his arms wearily, “But do go on. Impress me.”_

This _was the famously unpleasant attitude you were hoping to avoid. You swallowed, digging your nails into your palms, forcing the Scientist within to come out and say, “Our tests are safe for humans. Deep space travel may stress or harm the subject further, causing a myriad of unknowns. I advise removing the project until we can gain a better understanding of what occurred.”_

_Prowl was silent, staring at you hawkishly, unmoving._

_You were left tired and exhausted as that intelligent side of you submerged. You defaulted to a more subdued, genuine plea, “Please. We both want the same thing. Can't we collaborate so we both get what we want? Could you spare any medics or scientists from the Autobot space station?”_

_He eyed you for an agonizing minute before pulling out a datapad from his hip compartment. His tone was less degrading, “Will you be taking point?”_

_The question made you want to find a supply closet and hide, “I feel that it’ll be best if someone else-”_

_“I’ll only agree if you resume leadership of the project. Anyone else would be a waste of my time, and you have first-hand knowledge of the situation.” He started tapping on his pad, “I’ll forward my com-link to your substandard communication system, as I expect regular reports of your progress. I’ll reach out to the AOS to pull our assets from the field.”_

_You held up your hands, “Wait, I-”_

_His alien-blue glare cut your words at the root. He let it sink in that this was the third time he silenced you with his sharp optics alone. He angled his datapad at you, “I’m trusting you, Doctor Morgan. You seem the competent type, and I’ve heard positive things in regards to your work ethic. Don’t disappoint me.”_

_Warmth swelled and pressed against the back of your eyes. From the wreckage of blame and guilt and chaos, came something optimistic. You craved any kind of positive reinforcement, and if it was in the form of a severe alien giving you a figurative pat on the head – then you damn well better take it. You’ve been hesitant to step forward, to try and fix your mess. Doctor Arkeville’s earlier blame still cut deep._

_And that man continued to remind you of it still, “You will have nothing more to do with the project. You’ve done enough already.”_

_Prowl stepped closer, his footfalls heavier than necessary as he loomed over the Doctor, “You’ll adjust your tone, Ivan. You want the flesh-body to stay? She takes point. I refuse to deal with anyone else. Those are my terms.”_

_“Feh! Since you insist,” Doctor Arkeville stormed off, “With me, Junior. Looks like I’ll have to supervise to make sure things won’t fall apart...”_

The sound of clanking metal on steel brought you from the memory with a sudden jolt. Below, both military and alien were loading the lifeless body of a mech, and you had to turn away. You pressed your rust-scented hand to your mouth, and it only exacerbated your quailing stomach. Everything spiraled downward, further and further. Glimmers of hope seemed distant as you tried to count the positives. You desperately search your memories, finding your mind going back to the on-site medic after getting checked over from your vomiting fit in Henri’s room:

_Alan came to give you a quick report “The – uh…patient is stable, so I've been told. Jetfire got two of the three mechs back online.”_

_“Two?” You breathed, looking down at your hospital gown, “That means…”_

_“It was not a swapping of consciousness, as far as we can tell. Henri is still in there, somewhere, sharing brain-space with an alien.” He started to step away, “We’ll figure it out, Eve. Just make sure you’re good, ok? We’ll figure it out. We always do.”_

Even Alan didn’t sound too sure of himself. Glimmers didn’t seem bright enough. They were overshadowed with the catastrophe you didn’t see coming. You stayed blind to it all, your overconfidence a bright light to the path of success. It was hard to leave that hospital room and face everyone again.

What stood out most was what Doctor Arkeville said. His disparagement and ridicule wounded your heart more than your failure. This was all _your_ fault, and the need to fix it was crushed. You were the opposite of Midas and all you touched turned to ash. Prowl said he wouldn’t work with anyone else, but he must, for his own sake. If he wanted this to be successful, you had to bow out, lest you make things worse.

Then, just like that, Doctor Arkeville handed you the chart belonging to Henri:

_“You have to lead the team. I need to hurry to D.C. and head this off. This incident will eventually make it to headquarters. Try to fix this before they send someone to get in the way. Keep your head, Junior. There are bigger problems than this on their way.”_

Just like that. After feeling useless and despised, after being blamed and scolded, you weren't given a choice. You were to spearhead this damage control and fix your mess. He was gone within the hour, and to his annoyance, Prowl accompanied.

You heard the truck start up and drive off, transporting the Autobot shell to the alien’s on-site base. The engine fading as it vanished around the bend within the cover of the forest. You turned back, seeing the sun already sunk into the horizon, “Bigger problems than this? What could possibly be worse?”

Your whisper went unanswered, and you felt the nausea travel up your throat. You wanted to vomit, but there was nothing left. The thought of enduring another bout of dry-heaves made your breaths shudder between your teeth and your heart pounded so hard, you felt the vibration up your legs.

“Eva…”

The roof was quivering with the footsteps of the alien machine, not your heart.

You gasped, twisting to look over your shoulder. You hadn’t seen any other Autobot but Prowl and Jazz since the incident. You couldn’t face them, any of them. You turned away as soon as you recognized Bluestreak’s face. Words scattered from you and swan-dived over the railing. Part of you wanted to chase them.

“I spoke to Alan. He’s looking for you. He wants you back in medical for observation.” He said with the usual gentleness that would comfort you. It wasn’t.

“I’m alright,” A poor lie. You ran your hands over your pockets, feeling the small lump of a pill the medics gave should you want sleep. What you _wanted_ was to turn back time.

He knelt more at your level, “You have been active for nearly thirty-six hours without recharge or nourishment.”

“I don’t need to be in a hospital room for that.”

“No, but you were electrocuted. Humans don’t survive that. Alan explained to me that you _need_ to be hospitalized.”

“I'm fine.”

“Why are you hurting yourself?” He fretted, “Please, I don’t know much about organics, but I know this isn’t good for you. Please, Eva, what can I do?”

You shivered. There was nothing he could do. You were punishing yourself for failing, but you didn’t just fail, you caused a whole new problem. You didn’t deserve medical attention when so many others had it worse. You didn’t deserve food, not that your stomach would accept it, and you didn’t deserve rest, not when you were already in this nightmare. You failed so fantastically with such destructive repercussions, the fact you were given the responsibility to fix this was some cosmically tortuous joke. You didn’t have the courage to face your mistakes and get to work. You’ve been hiding away instead, terrified to even pick up a pen, and you _hated_ yourself for it.

You felt a weakness in your legs and braced yourself against the railing again. You took a deep breath as you refused to look at him, “Leave me alone. I don’t have time for this.”

Bluestreak took a moment to watch your shoulders tense and tremble. He then chose to do something completely out of character. He reached down and picked you up without any prompting or permission. You cried out a sound mixed between a protesting _hey_ and a subdued sob, falling silent as he brought you to the crook of his neck. He didn’t look at you, turning his head slightly to bring his audio receptors closer.

He said the words that broke you, “You have a moment to spare.”

You were tired. So, _so_ tired and sore and everything felt heavy and ached. The weight of it all bore down and threatened to crush. You gripped on what you could and cried out from this invisible pain. Over and over you played Doctor Arkeville’s words in your mind unwillingly. The guilt of putting another man you loved on life-support, and failing the one you swore to save, threatened to stop your heart altogether. It felt withered and small, dying along with your dream of fixing your life to perfection as it used to be.

You cried hard, harder than when you first heard that Henri was never waking up. You pressed your face against the warm metal and your knuckles turned white. You were spiraling down, falling into the darkness that made you feel so empty; the same darkness that whispered to give in, let go and to do _anything_ to escape this despair, this guilt, this _failure_.

You weren't prepared for this. You never prepared to _fall_ from that pedestal you so proudly perched on.

“Doc?”

The spinning stopped. You held your breath, _No. Not him._

“I'm not mad. Not at you.”

His voice made your body shake uncontrollably. He had to be lying, he had to hate you, to blame you as everyone else did. You did more than fail the Autobots, you gave them more reasons to take caution with humanity. You affected everything on a diplomatic level in the worst way possible.

Bluestreak’s hold on you tightened and the security of it let you find your voice, as tiny as it was, “Why?”

You didn’t think he heard until he snapped, “I’m not stupid. This was a freak accident.”

Taking a few recovering breaths, you wiped your raw face and eyes, “I...I should have-”

“I know what they’re saying.” You tensed at the sounds of his thudding footsteps, continuing his heated tone, “I’m not like your comrades, _pointing the finger_ , as you say.”

It was difficult. You couldn’t bring yourself to even look in his direction, “He’s your brother-”

“And I need you to take care of him,” The other Autobot cut you off, and you flinched as if he threw a punch.

“I used to feel his spark, but I can't now. I can’t feel anything. I know he’s scared, but they won’t let me see him.” He sounded desperate, something you hadn’t heard from this race before. It gave your heart a different kind of ache.

“You’re asking a lot from her.” Bluestreak defended, “She's mourning-”

“I know,” He said quickly, “I know. The vessel – I mean the boy was, er – is...very important to you.”

“You forgot her sire-”

“That too,” He said, “Sorry, I just...I can't think straight. I'm so...I’m scared.”

You felt your hands go numb as your grip on Bluestreak weakened. Your heart pounded faster at the thought of seeing Henri, but it wouldn’t really _be_ Henri. Torture wouldn’t be an adequate word to describe it, but it was the first to come to mind.

“I’m...I’m actually really, _really_ , scared,” He continued, “Not like surrounded by Cons, scared – but, losing someone...I don’t want to lose him. I _can't_.”

You couldn’t do it. You were too weak, your resolve shattered. You were broken and there wasn’t enough time to put yourself together. Your heartstrings were already cut.

“It pains you, I know it does.” He said softly, sympathetically, but pleaded in the next breath, “But my glitched brother... Everyone says you’re so nice, and you make such a good friend, and I know we’re not – but please. He needs your help. _I_ need your help.”

A different kind of guilt crashed into everything you had ever felt. You were being selfish. Yes, you failed your project, but that didn’t mean you had to fail your friends. You had the knowledge and skill-set to try and make right what you could, but here you are, wallowing in this thick sludge of pity. You didn’t have the luxury to hide and drown yourself in this abyss. You had a responsibility as a Scientist and as a friend.

You turned, seeing him for the first time since the incident. If these species could express anguish, you were witnessing it right now.

“Blue. Put me down.”

You jolted as he jerked in surprise, “Are- are you sure? I mean-”

“Yes. I'm sure.” You felt your resolve strengthen as you tapped into the colder analytical part of yourself, “I have a responsibility and cannot hide from that.”

Bluestreak hesitated, but eventually set you down, “Your health. Alan said you could be seriously injured from the electrocution, and you need to eat and rest-”

The roof thumped loudly as the other Autobot knelt heavily behind you. The sudden sound made you spin around in time to see his hand reach for you, and you staggered back. It was an involuntary reaction to the memory of the last time he handled you.

Contrite, Sideswipe pulled back and set it down for leverage, “I’m sorry, I just...Thank you. Thank you for going to care for my brother.”

He settled for his best smile, overwhelmingly grateful. You collected yourself, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, “I’ll do my best. Be patient, and I’ll keep you informed.”

You stepped around him, reaching in your pockets to find a pen. You put your hair up, straightened your blouse, and closed your eyes while taking deep breaths. In through the nose and out between your lips. You were _not_ the emotional girl who was in love with a brain-dead man. You were _not_ a weeping puddle of misery and blame. You were _not_ hiding from your failure anymore. You are a Lead Biomedical Researcher with a job. You have a patient. You were challenged to work with the cards in your hands. It was a terrible hand, but you will make do. You always had. 

You made your way into the building and down the lift. Facility B was smaller than the other surviving C, and even more so since most of the working equipment was moved over here. Organizing projects between the last two undamaged buildings had been trying for the surviving staff. Everyone was scrambling while you strode on with purpose.

The walk across the flat concrete lot was cathartic but reminded you of your organic composition. Thinking this way, disassociating yourself and compartmentalizing, helped you relax as you entered building C. You made it to the medical wing of the facility, finding one of the doctors on your staff rush out of a room and into the hall. She successfully dodged a clipboard with a yelp.

“Slaggin’ dirt monkey! Get out!”

His voice. You felt your knees nearly give out. You steadied yourself on the wall, fighting to keep the weeping lover pushed deep down inside, muffling her pleas to turn and run.

The woman noticed you and called out “Dr. Eva! He hit me! Freaking punched me!”

You straightened as she stormed up, “I’m not paid for this kind of abuse! It's a simple blood draw and he won’t hold still!”

This wasn’t the first time you had seen Jane worked up. This was the doctor you yelled at back when you had your last meltdown, and while she was an excellent caretaker and internist, she flustered easily.

You looked over her face, moving aside her cropped blonde hair to see the welt on her skin, “Are you alright?”

Your fingers ghosted her jaw, and she winced, “I’m alone. My staff was taken from me by other superiors for whatever, and I don’t know where the rest of the team went. Everyone is too busy to help, and Doctor Arkeville just left and isn’t returning my calls – and how can I get a simple blood sample if he won’t hold still? I’ve been trying for hours-”

“Ok, Jane,” You said gently, “Take a breath-”

“My mom always said, _be a researcher, like your sister at the Cosmoscope_ – but _no_. I didn’t want to live in Nebraska. I wanted to be a doctor and now look at me. I’m calling OSHA, then I'm quitting and I'm moving to Lincon-”

“Jane White, you _will_ listen to me,” You gave her shoulder a firm squeeze, “Breathe. Count to ten.”

The Internist closed her eyes, taking your advice before speaking, “I just...don't know what to do. I mean, one moment he’s breathing through a tube, the next...” She opened her eyes, looking at you as they began to well with frustration, “The next moment...you were gone...”

“Jane,” You said firmly, “I’m here now. I'm taking over. I’ll work with him directly from now on, but I need your help.”

Her eyes fastened on yours expectantly.

“I need you to find Holly. Tell her to get your staff back, and to find the others. We need a lab, and I need an office. That’s everyone’s objective right now.”

Jane nodded, “Yes ma’am”

“And ice that jaw. Dismissed.”

With a final nod, she jogged down the hall around others. You let out a long exhale through pursed lips, feeling something cold steel your posture. Someone needed to take control, to give direction. Doctor Ivan Arkeville and Prowl were busy heading for D.C. to field the oncoming HR storm. He tasked you to clean up this mess as much as possible, and to do that, you _needed_ to get your head on straight. You _needed_ to go to a different place. You _needed_ to be _numb_.

You took those dreaded steps inside the patient room.

“Aw hell. Not _you_.”

This man was not Henri, but one of the rudest and belligerent of the Autobots, Sunstreaker. A personality like his inside one of the kindest, gentlest men you had ever known was just the twist of the knife called irony. You felt sadness burn away as your temper flared.

You took a deep, realigning breath to cool yourself. You had to be numb. You had to be the Scientist with the undiscerning eye. He was a patient, a test subject. Your original project was on hold until this one was completed. That’s all this thing was: a project. 

“Listen,” You stepped up to him, and loomed over this new project of yours, “I will only say this once. I'm in no mood for any more abuse. You are in a body that is very precious to me. Therefore, you will treat me with respect and cooperate. If you do, then I will give you the same courtesy and work quickly and gently.”

You began to tremble with anger. You braced your hand on his bed and leaned in, face to face, “If you cannot comply, you will be strapped down and sedated for the ease of anyone within my staff. Do you compute?”

He glared at you with unfamiliar bright blue eyes, his lip curled as he answered, “Yeah, I do.”

You stood straight and paced, trying to lose the shakes that threatened to plague you, “Good. Good. I’m glad we can come to an agreement.” You returned to the side of his bed and from your pocket, you pulled out the little baggie with the white pill from earlier. You dumped it in your hand and offered, “Take this. Your body is stressed. You need to rest while we find a new workspace.”

He looked between you and the pill, “Why do you suddenly have this?”

“It was for me.”

“Why won’t _you_ take it?” He asked warily.

“Because I’m not going to sleep when I have work to do,” You snapped, taking his hand and pressing it in his palm, “When I say do something, _do it_. Will we be compromising the agreement already?”

He didn’t answer as he took the sedative, struggling to swallow but eventually worked it down. He settled, quietly watching you gather vials and needles for a blood draw. Simple phlebotomy was not a difficult task. It was keeping your hands steady. You sat by his bedside, tying a tourniquet around his arm and feeling for a vein. Your stomach rolled at how warm his skin felt.

He said nothing as you just held his arm, needle ready, but your hand was already shaking. You breathed, continuously telling yourself this was a project. This was not Henri. This was not the man you loved, doomed to live off of machines because of you. This was a project. This was a scientific wonder, an accident, a challenge, and these things you desperately tried to rationalize. This was the _body_ of the man you loved animated with the consciousness of an alien.

Sunstreaker took a sharp breath, and your eyes snapped up to the face you tried so hard not to look at, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away. His were a radiant, alien-like, electric blue. Henri’s were a rich chocolate brown. The contrast was stunningly distracting to those scientific gears that turned in your mind. He looked away as his Adam’s apple bobbed, putting great effort to swallow normally. You returned to what you were _supposed_ to do, and inserted the needle swiftly, pulling a hiss from him. 

After you filled the vials, you wordlessly packed up, turned off the lights and exited the room. You locked the door, turning to lean against the cool metal. Your whole body quaked, your knees fought to keep you up and your stomach threatened to heave. You closed your eyes, trying hard not to compare – not to see – Henri in this project. This man was not the man you loved. He still needed to be saved from your failures.

“Doctor Morgan?”

You opened your eyes, recognizing the short and thin stature of the curly brunette. She pushed up her round glasses, “You look bad, Ma’am. Let me take you to the medic.”

You shook your head, holding out the caddy to your assistant, “Jane needs these to start her tests. Have they found a lab?”

Holly took the samples and placed them in her shoulder bag, “In the other building. It’s a simple, smaller room but it has an office attached. We can pull rank to get it to ourselves.”

“If that’s what it’ll take.” The hall started to tilt back and forth like a seesaw, and you closed your eyes again to ride out the dizzy spell, “I...um, I need you to check to see if there are any open rooms for the patient in Building B.”

“Doubtful, but maybe we can trade spaces with someone,” She said slowly, “But we both know this is the best place for him. It has less stimuli and foot-traffic in the hall. It all equals no prying eyes. It’s a single room, he won’t have to share. We fought for this, ma’am.”

“Oh, yes,” Your voice quieted to a whisper, “I...sorry. Yes, you’re right.”

“Eva,” Holly said firmly, “I’m taking you to the medic.”

Your assistant gently pulled your arm and her touch felt distant. Feeling your physical form became a theory, your legs vanishing as the room spun in a cyclone of weightlessness. Her voice sounded so far, even as it screamed for help. You drifted away, feeling this sharp cold on the side of your face, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did as this darkness swooped in and swallowed you whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe trapped in a human body: I'm gonna run! Watch me run! I can move my stabilizer so fast! I'm - *trips, face-plants into a wall.*
> 
> Bluestreak trapped in a human body: Look at my little servos! Look at my little pedes! Look at my little aft! Look at my little - whats this? *pulls down pants. screams ensue.*
> 
> Prowl trapped in a human body: Just kill me, please. *lays face down on the floor.*


	6. It was logical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone deals with trauma differently. Some approach with anger, some with detachment. Sometimes, it's better to adapt, but what if you're set in your ways? Maybe the inside of a supply closet has the answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, LOTS of changes - including my PVP (lil baby spider was just a place holder, he will be remembered RIP)
> 
> First off, YES I changed the tags again. Why? I felt like an asshole taking up so much room in the search. 
> 
> Second, I CHANGED Gregory Morgan to Markus/Mark Morgan because I done GOOFED. I accidentally swapped names with the original G1 characters from the 1987 episode: The Return of Optimus Prime. 
> 
> If you ever wondered why your last name was Morgan, it was to pay homage to Jessica Morgan. Why didn't I name reader Jessica? Because Eva/Eve/Eevee is so much cuter and has nothing to do with the impulse of naming the main character after my dog. 
> 
> LASTLY - thank you ALL for the comments and kudos and clicks. I cannot put into words how amazing you guys are. Maybe I can roll my face on the keyboard while screaming, but seriously - THANK YOU

Alan stood outside the patient room. He shuffled around his pack for a lighter while a bellowing voice echoed down the hall.

“Medic my aft!”

He casually lit his cigarette. He couldn’t decide whether it was familiar or not. It sounded like his old friend, but at the same time, it didn’t.

“You have the grace of a groundpounder!”

He shoved the lighter in his pack, returning it to his pocket. He crossed his arms and waited, working his jaw all the while. He hated this _in-between_ feeling, this uncertain hesitance. He wanted to walk away, but he knew he couldn’t. _Shouldn’t_. He was as much involved in this as you.

“Greasy organic! Get the frag out!”

Jane came barreling through the door ungracefully, “I quit. I quit, I quit _, I quit_.”

She noticed Alan and immediately composed herself, brushing her cropped hair back, “Oh, um heh-hey you.”

He didn’t respond, quirking an indifferent brow as she pouted her lips, “Since you’re here, maybe you can help me. Are you going let him talk to me like that?”

Alan smirked, not missing a beat, “Yep.”

Jane frowned, obviously disappointed. She planted her hands on her hips, “Thanks for nothing. And put that out, there’s no smoking.”

He took the cigarette out of his mouth, smoke pouring with each word, “I know.”

“ _Tsk_ , whatever. What are you even doing here?”

He took another puff, “Smoking.”

She rubbed her face, “Fine. That’s just _fine_. Have you seen Doctor Morgan? She said she’d take care of this freak. She should be out of medical by now, she only passed out-”

The wall next to her boomed with the force of Alan’s open palm. She snapped her head up in time to see the taller man loom over her, nose to nose. His curled lip and flash of teeth was akin to a wild animal as he said lowly, “She nearly knocked her teeth out. Ease the fuck up.” He let up, waving harshly as he turned from her, “Screw off a while, Eve’ll do her job when she's ready.”

Jane watched him stand by the door, bouncing in place as would a boxer about to enter the ring. He stopped abruptly, turning his head to the side to throw over his shoulder, “You should go.”

Jane finally found her legs, scampering down the hall and breathing out the breath she’d been holding, both from fright and hope. She slowed her steps as she rounded the corner, hand over her fluttering heart. She wanted so badly for her crush to make the first move. He was the standard abrasive and aggressive bad-boy that just exuded perfection, unlike these nerdy science types that she had to endure. Like any troublemaker, she knew he was sweet and sensitive on the inside. According to her favorite movies, those types always were.

She halted, sniffing the smell of tobacco. At first, she thought the smell of smoke stuck to her, but it was shortly accompanied by a sharp sting of heat over her chest. She looked down at herself, and the swirl of smoke snaking from her breast pocket brought a bitter realization: that bastard slipped his cigarette in her pocket. Squealing, she pulled her scrub-shirt away from her body as she ran for the restroom.

At the sweet sound of a prank gone well, he threw open the door with deliberate force. Finally, he met the startled eyes that should have been brown, not this freaky alien blue. He was worried, actually scared he would lose it if he saw Henri, but it not _be_ Henri. When you made the effort last night and suffered for it, he knew he needed to stop avoiding it. If not for himself and his self-proclaimed reputation of a carefree badass, but for _you_ , to support you and to have your back.

 _Not_ because he had all this bottled up anger for your fiancé and what he told you before he left that wintry night. Not because he felt he had to put this alien in his place for ruining the moment Alan had been waiting years for. No, it had _nothing_ to do with that.

Part of him was relieved. He didn’t see Henri. He didn’t see his friend from all those years ago. He wore his face, but he wore it wrong. Even as he spoke with a pinched face and screwed brows, it was like looking at a failed copy of the man. “Who the hell are you?”

There were still those certain tones that sounded like Henri’s voice, but it was all wrong. Everything was all _wrong_. The other part of Alan was angry. Embers burned under his skin, biceps flexing in tandem with his clenching fists, and it took effort to restrain himself from falling back on that ‘ _you’ll do’_ attitude. He wanted to give this alien first-hand experience how fragile humans can be, what pain feels like to an organic while satisfying the need to _hit something_.

“I'm the guy who can seriously fuck your day.”

Those strange eyes glared back, and Alan felt a little pleased to see hostility in those eyes. The Autobot sneered, “Is that supposed to scare me, little fleshling? I have guns bigger than you.”

The tattooed engineer planted his hands on the door-frame, unable to keep that goading grin from his face, “This is _precious_. I don’t know if a toaster can feel pain, but I know for sure you can right _now_. Talk to me like that again, I’ll be happy to show you what being a _fleshling_ feels like.”

Sunstreaker squared his shoulders, visibly sizing up the man, “Are you just going to stand there and posture? What the frag do you want?”

“I’m being nice. This is me being _nice_ and giving you fair warning. That body you’re hijacking, he was a brother to me but-”

“Alan, what are you doing here?”

“ _Gah_!”

You appeared behind him, wedging yourself between him and the doorway, “Move it. Let me through.”

He grunted and jerked aside. You didn’t act like you heard him, but that wasn’t the glaring issue, “Are you supposed to be up and about? You passed out last night-”

“Yeah, several hours ago. I’m okay now,” When you tilted your head up, he got a full view of the ugly purple bruise on your chin and the split on your lower lip. “I got the all-clear. I didn’t just leave this time. I’m hydrated with a full stomach and aptly rested, _Doctor Faireborn_.”

“Sorry for giving a shit,” He grumbled, hiding his relief to receive your taunt.

“Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just giving Hen- er Sunstreaker a message,” Alan ground his teeth, biting back that flare of anger by nearly saying his name.

Sunstreaker crossed his arms, “He sure was.”

You stepped up to the animated body of Henri, and it only made Alan grip onto the door-frame till his hands ached. He witnessed your cold and professional demeanor and Sunstreaker’s bitter compliance, holding out his hand for your inspection. The tech tried to breathe out that heated fury, struggling to calm himself as you had. You had your emotions under control. Alan still tussled with his. As you muttered a few questions to your patient while testing for numbness in his fingers, he had to evaluate what he was really angry at. It wasn’t at Sunstreaker, though he didn’t make it difficult to dislike him.

“Ivan and Prowl made it to D.C. Doc said the news of the explosion hasn’t reached them yet, and he’s distracting the committee to buy time. That asshole said they’ll find out eventually, and to get this shit fixed. Jetfire received a transmission: the big boys made it to their space station, but they can't send any of their medics here, or anyone right now. There’s an increase of bad-bot activity, and the Autobots lost a little ground.”

Sunstreaker’s head snapped up with brows high in alarm, and the expression took the tattooed man off guard.

“Damn it,” You cursed. Whether it was on the news or the heart monitor’s rising beat, Alan was unsure. 

You rushed over to the cabinet, prepping an injection, “Thank you. I’ll have Holly reach out to Doctor Arkeville to tell him I’m working as fast as I can, but he has to understand,” You let out a frustrated huff, “He just has to get that this is not a simple weekend project. He needs to requisition equipment to replace my damaged machines.”

“Yeah. I already sent him a response.”

Your professionalism faltered. Trace amounts of dread touched your wide eyes as you looked up from your work.

“Relax. He knows it was me. Who else would call him an asshole?”

“Alan.”

“I told him we’re doing all we can, and to suck a dick.”

“Alan!”

“Unbundle your grannies, I was professional about it. I used proper grammar and spelling. I’m not a _savage_.”

You closed your eyes with a sigh, muttering to yourself to speak to your assistant. You resumed measuring out the sedative, “Have you found anything at the lab?”

His hands slid down the door-frame and dropped to his sides, “Just theories, nothing solid. I'm heading back over there to see if I can sift through more of this clusterfuck.”

You nodded, injecting the patients I.V. Alan hesitated to leave, watching you move with deft hands and a detached grace that told him you were somewhere else. You then crossed the room to the door, waiting for him to step away before shutting it.

He didn’t move, “You okay?”

You held his gaze with a long, tired stare and said nothing. He gave a small nod and stepped away, letting you close the door. As he left for the damaged building, he remembered the look you gave him. It was the same from when you first took on Henri as a science project. It was blank and indifferent, and whoever you were before was far away right now. No, you were not _okay_.

You prepped a new injection and knelt by Sunstreaker’s bedside, “Hold out your arm.”

“What's that for?” He eyed the needle warily.

“It will help regulate your blood pressure. Hearing that news didn’t help any,” You explained, taking his wrist to extend his arm. Your eyes instantly found the irritated and bleeding track marks, and you lost your composure, “My God! What happened?”

He yanked his arm away, “Your medical assistant. I never knew _humans_ employed idiots. You cannot have that flesh creature anywhere near me. She's a walking hazard and her vocals are so shrill and-”

“I told her I was going to deal with you directly,” You cut him off, taking his hand back and pulling out his arm to search for a spot that didn’t look like a victimized pincushion. He was warm under your touch, and your stomach roiled like an impending storm.

“She insisted she needed more samples.” He watched nervously as you prepped a spot and stuck him quickly. He gave a sharp gasp and hissed out his exhale. The anticipation was always worse.

“Why didn’t she say anything to me?” You finished up and taped on gauze over the beading blood, “I told her I would deal with you directly. What did she need more samples for?”

“Does it matter? She failed,” Sunstreaker snapped, watching you rise and begin collecting supplies for another blood draw, “This wouldn’t have happened if you were here. What happened to you? Why was there talk of you being in the medbay?”

You filled the little phlebotomy caddy with vials of variously colored rubber tops. Instead of kneeling, you pulled up a little wheeling stool and returned to his bedside, “I passed out.”

You met his bright eyes and saw him make an expression that was different from what you expected. When Henri was confused, his brows would raise and he would blink several times while looking all around for clarification. Sunstreaker’s brows knitted together, his eyes peered right at you and he almost seemed offended that there was not more of an explanation given.

“Passed out? Excuse me. I don’t have access to your primitive _world wide web_ to explain your stupid human jargon.” He was _definitely_ offended that he didn’t get what you said.

You were almost thankful he was a jerk. It separated him more and more from the image of the man you loved. “I didn’t sleep since the explosion, and I didn’t eat or drink. The stress of what happened didn’t help. My body and my brain shut down, and I had no say in the matter.”

“So, like when we don’t consume energon or recharge for an extended period of time. If we push our systems into overdrive, then we risk stasis,” He compared, and you nodded tentatively.

“I know very little of your mechanical physiology, but maybe. It sounds similar to that.” You started opening the supplies, fixing the needle cap on the hub. Sunstreaker said nothing as he was focused on your hands. They did not shake as they tied on a tourniquet, and stuck in the needle. The blood jetted into the vial as soon as you pressed it into the hub, and you loosened the tourniquet in a fluid motion.

He watched with disgusted fascination before averting and clenching his eyes shut, “What do you have to be stressed about? You’re not stuck in this...fluid-filled _thing_.”

You were not going to play the game of _who has it worse_. You were not going to open up to this heartless project, either. That’s exactly what this was, a new project, and to keep him as such, that meant no feelings had to enter this relationship. You don’t tell the microwave you’re fixing about your day. The question did pull some threads of annoyance, though. How dare he imply that you had nothing to be stressed about when the world literally came crashing down days ago? Your hand started to shake as you plugged in the next vial.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “Are you about to go into stasis again?”

You don’t tell your kitchen appliances about your day, but you can certainly scream at them for not working. You glanced up, fixing your jaw, “Watch your tone. I won’t have you treating me like my problems are less than yours.”

He clenched his fist as you filled another vial, “Did you wake to the nightmare of being trapped in a weak and useless fleshling?”

“No, I woke to _this_. I woke to almost losing my father, and now he’s on a god-damn respirator and he’s unresponsive,” You snapped, “I woke to an experiment gone wrong, and instead of gaining, I _lost_. My dad is comatose and all I want is for you to let me focus on _anything else_ right now.”

Sunstreaker held your glare for a long and belligerent moment, then broke contact to look down at his arm, “Are you finished?”

“Yes,” You said brusquely while pulling out the needle and taping down gauze. Wordlessly, you cleaned up, organizing the vials in the caddy. You kept your mind busy with anything you could: counting, color coding, the different enzymatic tests you could run, and many ways to compare his metabolic panel to earlier results. You begun treating the marks on the inside of his arm, yanked back out of your head when he spoke.

“What...what will happen to me?”

You didn’t _dare_ look at him. The tone of his voice was enough to crack your icy wall, “I don’t know. Right now, I need to make sure the body can withstand the stress it's under.”

Sunstreaker scoffed, “Oh! Of course, how can we forget about the meatsack everyone only cares about.”

You still refused to look at him, retaining a firm tone, “If he dies, _you_ die.”

He swallowed loudly, “Oh...makes sense...”

You didn’t know what else to say. What more _could_ you say? _Awkward_ wasn’t an adequate word, but the best one you could think of. Talking to him on this level, of hearing his suffering and angst, pulling taut the strings of the heart of the Healer within, was _torment_. With increasingly trembling hands, you finished treating him and went for the door.

“I want to see my brother,” he said with a papered strength. 

You involuntarily turned back to face him, and _God_ you wish you didn’t. You saw pain, fear, and confusion in his bright blue eyes, and one of those strings in your heart snapped with a guilty _twang_. You repeated to yourself that he was a project, an experiment, an irritation, and a setback. Those harsh titles tasted awful on your tongue and did nothing to help. It made you feel worse. It offended that old physician's code to _help others in need_. His expression was human. Not Henri’s, but human.

You couldn’t lose your resolve, “No. We still need to run tests before we can allow outside stimuli.”

With that you walked out, feeling nauseated and miserable. It would be silly to keep repeating that this wasn’t going to be easy and it would be completely irresponsible to continue putting yourself through this. You had to be at peak performance if you were going to solve this, and that meant not looking at _his_ face every day. That would be just plain counter-productive, and a waste of time. Sunstreaker would just have to deal with seeing your staff. Your time was better spent elsewhere. Away from him. It was logical.

You found a medical closet and stepped in as if it was any other room. You locked the door behind you and sunk to the ground, gasping and wracking with these sudden and violent sobs that breached your defenses.

Sunstreaker would just have to realize that you were not keeping such a silly promise to reduce his exposure to other people. If he wanted this to be successful, he would understand. It was a logical decision, not influenced at all by the drive of your turbulent emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While in D.C.:  
> Ivan Arkeville asks, "Prowl, why did you come with me? Was it to lord over me? To scout our government system? To address the committee? To review the rights of your soldier? To intimidate?"  
> Prowl, thinking of Sunstreaker's graphic descriptions of being trapped in an organic, answers, "Yes."  
> "Yes to what?"  
> "Pick one."


	7. He sounds nothing like him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is key, only when you have the right words, and a willing listener.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Ethnic slur mentioned. 
> 
> *Sigh* Yet ANOTHER edit. I realized I was writing June instead of Jane because sometimes my brain likes to smoosh continuities together. To avoid anyone thinking of June Darby, I changed the name. 
> 
> Jane White is a nod to Rad White from Transformers Armada. His parents reside in Lincoln, Nebraska, and work at the Cosmoscope research center. Kudos to anyone who caught that. 
> 
> Forgive my nerdy impulses. I love sneaking in Easter-eggs.

Your back reminded you that this posture was not its favorite. You straightened and rolled your shoulders, feeling the little pops along your spine. You considered sitting down, but you’ve been sitting for the last four hours, and still, you slouched. You began arching your body from side to side when your curly-haired assistant strode in your appropriated office.

“Doctor, the results of the blood-work,” clipboard in hand, she rounded your desk to your side, setting down the data and, without any prompting, fixed a dainty hand against the hollow of your back, “square those shoulders, ma’am, look straight ahead.”

“Holly,” You sighed a half-hearted protest, “This isn’t the time.”

“Your posture is off,” She said curtly, “you have been taking poor care of yourself. You must keep appearances for the morale of the team and the respect of those outside our lab.” You stood straight as her little fingers traveled up your vertebrae to your neck. She clicked her tongue reprovingly, “Set aside time tonight for a readjustment. If you continue like this, the aches will only distract you. Have you been stretching like I’ve shown you?”

“Holly, I have loads of work,” You knew arguing with someone like her was useless.

She picked the clipboard back up, hiked up her pencil skirt, and shamelessly brought up her dainty size-five heels up on your desk, “You can spare the time when it comes to self-care.”

You huffed, bringing up your plain white sneakers to set on your desk, reaching forward to practically kiss your knee, “one, two-”

“François,” she ordered.

“Un, deux, trois...kat-kah, um...”

“Scientifique talentueux. Incapable de compter après trios,” Holly muttered under her wistful sigh.

You had no idea what she said, and in that mild irritation, you snatched the clipboard from her hands, “As much as I love the sound of your homeland language, I have to ask that you take it easy. Last time someone heard you, and I had to _beg_ my dad to do something about it because a demerit from _me_ only made that human garbage laugh _in my face_.”

“I’ve been called worse than a _frog-eater_ , Ma’am.”

You switched legs at her command, and you started shuffling through the papers, “I won’t tolerate any abuse or disrespect to my staff, and I don’t think I can handle anything else with the right amount of self-control. I don’t think I could handle it if I lost my composure and was accused of acting like a _hormonal woman_.”

“Noted, Ma’am,” She fished out her own notepad from her white lab jacket, jotting notes, “You just focus on your work. I’ll handle everything else.”

Holly LeTene was a godsend. She was the first to be hired on as your assistant by Doctor Arkeville, and you were ashamed to admit you were very underwhelmed at first. She was short and petite, frizzy hair and round glasses. Worse, she was younger – _much_ younger than you. It was literally the same day that she was hired on was when she impressed you with helping select your staff. She proved to think outside the norm, choosing loyalty and those who would display respect to their boss rather than those with the most degrees and accomplishments under their belts.

It never bothered you that she had a foreign background, or that she was a child of an affair. You were surprised to hear her slip into her mother-tongue for the first time, and you happened to love it. Every so often, you fancied a trip to Paris to visit the _French National Center for Scientific Research_ , and tested your skill at picking up a foreign language. Turns out, while you may be amazing at reducing the radioactive ionic compounds within an alien substance and then synthesizing it to coalesce with organic tissues, you were a garbling mess when it came to pronouncing most vowel phonemes.

You brought your leg down to stand normally, unable to work out the tightness in your muscles while reviewing the charts. Your brows pinched together, taking in the distressing data of this blood-work, “High cortisol across the board, elevated WBC count, and BP is still at a critical number. Obvious stress. At this rate, he’ll contract a virus at best. Make sure the staff is wearing gloves and masks at all times. Keep the area sterile.”

Holly reached over to flip a few more pages, “Despite the stress of the subject, his behavior had changed from aggressive to withdrawn. He does not speak with any of the staff since you let them have direct contact.”

You winced. It's been days, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to allow your team to work with him directly, to give you some time to only look at charts and statistics instead of the face of your fiancé. You had to break your promise to him.

“Thank you.” You reviewed a few more sheets. He had difficulty eating and complained of stomach aches. More than likely he would start to develop stomach ulcers. You frowned, “He’s still receiving sedatives to sleep?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Holly answered, “Without them, he has difficulty sleeping and staying asleep. He’s developing early signs of addiction.”

“I feel we can conclude the body was physically unaffected by the incident,” You stated as your assistant began writing, “But it will continue to deteriorate unless we deal with the patient’s trauma. We’ll continue to monitor the basics, but we need to start focusing on neurological testing,” You paused, setting the results back on your desk, “Where are we on that? Have we heard from Doctor Arkeville?”

She glanced down at her notepad, leafing through, “He is reaching out to a few of his colleagues to get us the equipment.”

“And how long will that take?” You asked sharply.

“About as long as you suspect,” She shot back.

You attempted to rein back your frustration, “Nothing survived the blast?”

Holly frowned, “Anything pertaining to your project was on the same circuit, including all our neurology equipment.”

“Why can't I requisition a damn MRI from our government?”

“Doctor Arkeville clearly intends to keep his superiors out of the cleanup as much as possible. To replace each machine would be a substantial request,” She also shared your irritation, voicing her opinion, “He’s above admitting fault and groveling for assistance. It’s to save face, I’m sure. _Salaud_.”

“Good assumption,” You groaned a little under a bothered sigh, ignoring whatever exotic insult she muttered, “How is he with the committee? Did he say?”

“Somehow, he’s still stalling the impending investigation, but he assured me someone will be coming and we need to work fast.”

You barked out a laugh, “ _Without_ the proper equipment. _Idiot_. You send a message to him – from me – saying we’re at a standstill, and _cannot_ move forward without-”

“Eva! Doctor Morgan!”

You literally rose to the balls of your feet as Jane threw the door open in a stumbling mess, “He’s missing! The- that guy is missing!”

You were already dashing around your desk, sneakers squeaking as soon as you heard the word _missing_. You shouted orders from your busy lab, weaving around others with the experienced grace of a nimble rabbit, “Alert security! Shut down all entrances!”

You raced down the hall, dodging others along the way. You ignored the disapproving glares and reprimanding comments as you appeared like that _hysterical woman_ you were. Times like this, you wished you could harness the bold energy of your long-time friend, Alan, and just scream for these old men to _fuck themselves_. But no. You were professional. You had an image. Right now, that image blurred down the halls as all those years of track proved a boon to your endurance. 

The P.A. finally blared its announcement, initiation a lockdown and for everyone to remain in the building. Everyone just went along their way, some complaining, but mostly they just moved from your way and continued with their day.

Your heart thundered in your chest. That selfish moron, what was he thinking? What if something happened to Henri’s body? What if he makes himself worse, or sick? He was contaminating himself with Lord knows what and coming into contact with anyone that would ask questions on your classified work. Your thoughts turned to your staff and their negligence. You’ll deal with them later.

You found yourself out in the warehouse area of the facility. The hangar door was wide open, and your breath caught. _Outside._ Would he have gone outside? It was a large amount of property. What if he made his way past the fence and into the woods? Would he try to find his way to the Autobot base? If he did head that direction, someone must have seen him. You hurried to the opening and that’s when you heard yelling from both human vocal cords and vocal units.

You rounded the corner and saw two security guards wrestle Sunstreaker to the ground. All you focused on was your patient’s face in the dirt and yelled, “Stop it! Get off him!”

They didn’t budge, barely glancing up at you, but one spared a patronizing, “Don’t worry, _hon_ , we won’t hurt your boyfriend.”

Sunstreaker was fighting and bellowing threats as they pulled his arms around back to cuff him. Bluestreak was holding Sideswipe back as he was yelling curses that only made sense to their kind. You were having _none_ of this, and stormed up, “You will address me as _Doctor_ _Morgan_ , and I am in charge while Doctor Arkeville is absent.”

That got their attention, and you cracked that authoritative whip, “That is _my_ patient, and I order you to release him, _now_.”

The two military staff stood, leaving Sunstreaker groaning on the ground. You hastily knelt beside the blond, sitting him up, “Can you move all your limbs?”

“We didn’t break anything, _Doctor_.” One of the officers spoke up, regarding you with an insulting amount of carelessness, “He fought when we tried to escort him inside for the lockdown.”

The other added, “He refused to come with us, then failed to provide identification. We were just following protocol.”

“I know.” You shot them a frigid glare, “I have his I.D. in my office, and I ordered the lockdown. Continue with your job and make sure everyone is following the drill. I will handle this from here. Dismissed.”

They turned and left, and you watched the mouthy one elbow his partner, “Practicing her daddy’s shoes, am-I-right?”

You clenched your jaw _hard_. It just wouldn’t be worth it to chase them down and hunt for some form of justice, but damn you wish you could do _something_ that didn’t involve you looking like the _sensitive woman_. You caught yourself from wishing your father was here, hating that you wanted to go running to him. It made you feel juvenile and petty.

Sideswipe’s protests pulled you out from within your spitfire thoughts, “You’re just going to let them go?”

You turned your rage on something safer, “I am! Do you know why? Because they were doing their job!” You shot to your feet, pointing at him and he _actually_ backed up into Bluestreak, “And what were _you_ going to do? You’re lucky Blue had the right mind to hold you back because I swear if you harm someone, I can't protect you from whatever will come your way. Do you know what a _Diplomatic Incident_ means!?”

Bluestreak motioned for you to _calm down_. “Eva-”

“They were hurting him!” Sideswipe defended, finally getting that straight back-strut and leaned over you.

You were unaffected, snapping right back, “And he shouldn’t even be out here!”

The sniper patted him on the back, speaking in hushed tones. The red gunner gave you one last bright glare before turning away. You sucked in a breath, briefly closing your eyes and realizing you were screaming at the wrong person, and devoting your time to the wrong cause. You set aside this anger and turned to the fleshy Autobot in the dirt, kneeling at his side, “What hurts?”

He wiped the dirt from his face, groaning, “Everything. Everything fragging hurts. How does your species even _live_ with being this fragile?”

You stood and pulled him to his feet. You gave a quick assessment, and nothing looked broken, just a few cuts and scrapes. You monitored his walking for any swaying, limping or tripping. He sat at the picnic table designated for smokers, and you used your penlight to check his pupil dilation.

Sunstreaker squinted, then rubbed his eyes when you finished, “Come to lock me back up?”

“Yes,” You said harshly. You were forced to look at his face – _Henri’s_ face – and while you had your taller alien audience, you didn’t hold back, “You could have ruined everything. You have no idea what could have happened. You disobeyed a direct order-”

“Frag your orders! You don’t tell me what to do, fleshling.”

“He just wanted to see me,” Sideswipe added strongly.

You turned your glare on the mech, “He wasn’t allowed outside! He’s not used to being human, and what if he got hurt, or caught a virus? What if you stepped on him? He broke out of his room, he didn’t have any permission-”

“You left me!” Sunstreaker argued, “You promised your ugly faceplate would be the only fragging thing I’d have to see, and then all these strangers poke and prod at me.”

Your broken promise. Something in your chest lurched back. It wasn’t fair, he didn’t know what you were going through. He didn’t understand your feelings, but you weren't exactly forthcoming. If anything else, you were awful. All he knew was that you were absolutely terrible. His bright blue glare was so intense, it took your spine away and you broke eye contact. On so many levels, it was difficult to look at his face.

“They don’t talk to me, other than to ask questions about this gross sack of meat I'm in,” He continued, “No one would let me out to see my brother, to see anyone else. I must be glitched to believe you when you said you wanted to help me, when you said you would understand—"

“Give her a break,” Bluestreak jumped to your defense. “You don’t know what this is doing to her. That man you’re in is her—”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to be here!” He cried, his voice breaking, “I didn’t choose this! I didn’t even want to come to this slagging planet. It will be good for me, they said, it will show me that humans can be decent. Well, look at me – how fragging decent am I _now_?!”

You’ve been wrong. You’ve been so, _so_ wrong. How horrible of you to never think beyond yourself? This creature, this alien, this living, feeling, sentient being was _hurting_ and all you did was put up a wall of frigid avoidance. It would feel like emotional torment to treat him as a patient, to look into the face of the one you’ve failed, but on the other side of those foreign eyes was someone else suffering. You couldn’t keep up that wall, but you needed something enough of a divide to keep sane. You needed balance. You needed a new approach.

With a steeling breath, you made your way to the building.

“Go ahead,” Sunstreaker threatened, “Call those bloodbags back, I’m going to put this pitiful body through its paces.”

“I’m not,” You said calmly, “We’ll stay out here for a bit.”

You rounded the entrance and found the phone on the wall. You called your assistant with instructions and returned to the group. Your patient watched you, mouth opened wordlessly, but his eyes tracked you guardedly.

“I’m having a first-aid kit brought out to treat those scrapes.” You still had a hard time meeting his eyes, “And I’m having lunch brought out. We’ll eat outside today.”

“I’ll believe you when I see it with my own optics, _fleshling_ ,” He practically spat the slur for your organic kind, and you let it hit you. You _were_ being a poor example of your kind.

You had a hard time finding the right words to convey what this gesture was. It was a new olive branch, an apology, a new promise, and an agreement all in one, but you couldn’t find how to say it. 

“Leave her alone, Sunny.” Bluestreak stepped up and sat beside the picnic table with a deep _thud_ , “That’s enough. Go talk to your brother. I want some time to catch up with her.”

He huffed out another insult as he stood, grunting some with the aches from his altercation. He went over to Sideswipe and they both sat down in the grass a decent ways away. You observed the two conversing quietly and tried to listen in. You weren't necessarily paranoid about being a topic of conversation, but you were most curious about _what_ Sunstreaker had to share. You wanted to hear how he interacted with his own kind. Your less-than-obvious spy tactics were interrupted by Bluestreak.

“I haven’t seen you since you...since we spoke on the landing pad.” His hand rested beside the table, holding him up as he leaned over, “I’ve been worried.”

You were more than willing to give him your attention, eagerly reaching to touch his arm. There was something comforting about the feel of his sun-warmed metal plates under your palm, “I’ve been busy. Things have been...they’ve been difficult.”

He tilted his head some, “I heard you had to be taken to your medbay after you made contact with Sunstreaker. Did he...was he responsible?”

“No, it wasn’t his fault. You were right. Without sleep, food, and water, it caught up to me. I passed out.”

Bluestreak took a moment, more than likely looking up the term before responding, “I’m glad to see you’re better, physically that is. I can only imagine the emotional distress this is causing you.”

You wanted to be honest, to tell him that your face ached some mornings from crying yourself to sleep. You wanted to say that you fought with yourself on how to approach Sunstreaker, and staying cold and professional was harder than you imagined. Instead, you said, “I’ll be alright.”

He looked at you doubtfully, about to say something before the other two erupted in laughter. Your head snapped over in their direction, eyes wide at such a sound. It was rich and hearty, deep and musical, and it made something in you _ache_. Henri’s laughter was always light, wheezing and sometimes you’d hear a snort. You weren't sure how you were feeling. Disappointed? Cheated? Confused?

Sunstreaker’s mirth clearly had an effect on you, but Bluestreak couldn’t read what kind, “Are you ok?”

“He...He sounds nothing like him.”

He was unaware of your internal monologue, so it sounded like a strange thing for you to say. He decided to agree with what you may have meant, “Yeah, Sunny does sound different now.”

“Hey!” Sunstreaker called out, “Now I’m temporarily out of the running, looks like the title of the fastest Autobot is up for grabs.”

Seeing him smile, to watch him _act human_ for better lack of words, had your mouth hanging open so wide you could taste the dirt below your feet.

“You never had that title anyways.” Bluestreak said, “It was always Blurr.”

“He doesn’t count. It’s always been between me and Sides.”

“Don’t forget Hot Rod and Bumblebee.” The sniper began ticking off his digits, “Cliffjumper’s pretty quick. You got Windcharger, even Red Alert-”

“They lack style.” He stood, stepping towards them with a stride that could only be described as a _swagger._ “So between you and Sideswipe, who’s faster?”

“Bro, you need to seriously ask?”

“Oh, he _does_ ,” Bluestreak pushed himself to his feet, “There’s only one way to find out.”

Sunstreaker joined you at the picnic table as the two Autobots transformed and raced off with a fluid motion you neglected to admire. Without looking at you, he spoke, “You’ve been staring this entire time.”

You turned away quickly as embarrassment stole your breath. The sounds of the engines grew distant, reminding you that you were left alone with your patient. If you were going to make this work, to be successful with this project and survive, you had to be transparent, “You were smiling.” 

He clicked his tongue, “ _Tsk_ , maybe because I’m not locked up in some room, you ever think about that? I thought you were supposed to be one of the smarter ones.”

You deserved that. “I’m sorry.”

That made him turn his head, staring as he struggled to speak, “What?”

“I said I'm sorry.”

He side-eyed you with growing suspicion, “Why?”

You had to be open and honest, and there were no better places to start than an admission of guilt, “I’ve been unfair towards you, and I’m sorry. That body you’re in is very important to me. I’m not sure where to begin, or how to act around you.”

You had his attention, and your eyes flitted from those sharp blues. He wore Henri’s face, but his expressions were not his. You had to find a way to cope with these encounters without seeing the man you love, “This is difficult for both of us. I’m trying, I really am.”

“Kinda hard to see the _trying_ part, human. I don’t understand why this is so difficult for _you_.”

Without spilling your guts to Sunstreaker, he would have no idea just _how_ important that body was to you. He would never understand the tireless work you put into seeing that man again, to have him walking, talking and _forgiving_ you for letting him leave that night.

You were not ready to bare yourself to the likes of _him_. “It is. Trust me.”

“Trust _you_ , yeah, okay,” His sarcasm was a slap in the face.

You fell into a tense silence. Holly came out with a kit and a bag. Wordlessly, she dropped it off and returned inside. You began rummaging through the first-aid and began treating Sunstreaker’s scrapes. He hissed and cursed, but stayed still to let you finish. As the last patch was stuck on, he muttered, “So you didn’t call security.”

“I said I wasn’t,” You kept your tone even and gentle.

“You also promised you wouldn’t sick a bunch of primitives on me if I cooperated.”

You swallowed down your pride, “I’m sorry. That won’t happen again.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke up again, “Thanks...for letting me stay out here.”

 _Progress!_ You glanced up at his face briefly while putting everything back in the kit, “Sorry I didn’t do it sooner. It’s had a calming effect on you.”

“You mean the body.”

“No, you.” You started setting out lunch, “You need to understand that you are now a part of that body. If the body is injured, you are injured. If your consciousness suffers, the body suffers. I’m not just treating you because of the body. I want to help you, too.”

He looked at you for a long while before putting out his hand, “We’ll start over, then.”

You faced him, eyes darting between him and his hand.

“This is how you do it, right?” He raised an offended brow, “I’m not stupid, I know a few things about your kind.”

You nodded, slowly taking his hand. You held it, inhaling sharply. His grip was strong and warm. You touched his skin plenty of times, but this felt different. He touched _you_. He wasn’t an experiment or just a project. He was a feeling, thinking sentient being that needed your help. He may not have been your friend, but you needed to overcome this pain to help someone who needs it _right now_.

You also needed to overcome this nauseated feeling. His warm flesh had your stomach quailing. You fought it down to push ahead a soft and sincere smile, “Thank you, Sunstreaker.”

“Yeah, whatever, human. Just don’t make me regret it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While in D.C.
> 
> Ivan Arkeville had just finished telling Prowl about the meeting with the committee, "...and I'll need your full cooperation-"  
> The Commander's sirens suddenly wail, and Prowl shut them off, resetting his vocalizer, "Ahem. Pardon me. For a brief moment, I had a sudden sense of...lollygagging."
> 
> Nearly three hundred miles away:  
> Sideswipe is stuck in a ditch.  
> Bluestreak won the race.


	8. How did I survive?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You last left with starting anew with Sunstreaker - shame no one told him he was supposed to treat you with a little more respect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry things have been a little bland the last few chapters. Hopefully things will start picking up and get your interest back. 
> 
> BAM! Medical Fact!  
> It was only after 1980 that it was discovered a Continuous Positive Airway Pressure (CPAP) could be used to alleviate sleep apnea. Before that, in the 19th century, doctors began to lump sleep apnea symptoms together using the name “Pickwickian syndrome”. The name came from Charles Dickens' The Pickwick Papers, in which a character exhibited symptoms of what would later become known as sleep apnea. It was only in the late 20th century that it was officially designated as a disorder. Before the CPAP machine, tracheotomies were widely used to treat the condition.

It was all at a standstill. The days that followed your patients first escape from this very room lead to consistent dead-ends.

Worse, Sunstreaker was an _ass_ to you. You weren't just being dramatic or sensitive. Everything you did was questioned, insulted, and patronized. He never called you by your name. You were dubbed _Human_ , as well as other Cybertronian slurs for your kind. You did your best to just ignore it, but you couldn’t lie to yourself. It was sandpaper to your ears, and every time you were subjected to it, the more raw and sore it left you.

You were a _Doctor_ , why couldn’t he just call you _Doctor_?

Sunstreaker did nothing to make things easier. Your eyes grazed over the data on the clipboard, hip fixed against the counter, and you let out a long sigh. It evolved to a hum as you caught the faint sounds of a distant radio from several rooms away. You noticed your reflection in the steel and glass cabinets, frowning at the dark circles under your eyes. You muttered curses under your breath when you saw the faintest edges of white at your hairline – _white_? Like grays? Like _old_!?

“I don’t know what's more annoying,” Sunstreaker snorted from the medical bed, “The silence, or those little noises you make. Do you know how noisy you are?”

You set your jaw a little too hard, feeling something pop. You gave him a wordless side-eye and resumed reading the data before you. It was mixed between inconclusive and _normal_. The irony was just the twist of the knife brandished by your failure. You worked so hard to get the body of Henri to be _normal_ and healthy, to keep him in peak physical condition for testing – but when you read normal results after an _alien_ inhabited the body of your beloved, it couldn’t have been more alarming and maddening.

Sunstreaker huffed with that iconic teenage angst. He always seemed more agitated when you ignored him, so he went to the next best thing: attacking your equipment. He started ripping off the nodes that were stuck on his body, “I can’t recharge with these wires stuck to me.”

 _Now_ he had your attention. You dropped your clipboard on the counter with a startling clatter and crossed the room in a flash, “Be careful! It’s on loan. I had to call in a lot of favors to get this machine.”

You peeled off the sticky nodes faster than he could keep up, and he obediently sat still as you unstrapped the larger monitoring system from his chest. He made a noise, not unlike what you’d make stepping in something squishy and questionable, every time you touched him.

“This _machine_ is primitive and useless,” He offered his _professional_ opinion, “How does telling you how I recharge help? What slag is it offering?”

Your politeness was only veiled sarcasm, “Good news and bad news. Good: you don’t experience any sleep apnea. Bad: you weren't falling into proper REM sleep. This monitors certain brainwaves, and your neurological readings were...different. They weren't common for usual EEG readings.”

“ _Okaay_. And what does _that_ tell you?” His brows furrowed, and those alien blues bore into you.

You couldn’t hold eye contact for long, turning away to set everything down on the cart where the machine was fixed. You let out another long sigh, “It tells me I need my neuro-lab and everything that went with it.”

Sunstreaker made another noise, sucking in air through his teeth. He breathed out something garbled and foreign, dragging his vocals so deep, it caused him to cough. You turned to see what the _hell_ that was all about, and his fingers gingerly touching his throat told you everything. Unmindfully, he slipped into Cybertronian and _failed_. The human voice box was not made for such bass alien warbles. Beyond frustrated that he couldn’t even _speak_ in his people’s tongue, he clenched his fists at his sides. You looked away just as he turned that burning blue glare your way.

As much as this whole thing hurt you, you knew what he was going through was just as worse. You wished you had the right words. You wished you were able to comfort him. You wished he wasn’t such an _asshole_ and made it difficult for you to provide all those things. You thought things would change after your apologetic display, but no. He tested your patience often in a menagerie of different ways. Today had yet to reveal itself. 

You moved about, rolling over his heart monitor machine and hooked him up without so much as a peep. Sunstreaker returned the sentiment, eyes ahead, moving when you silently prompted him. Over the course of these days, you learned a few of his quirks. Right now, he was angry. Angry enough for you to know better than to prod, but you couldn’t help but feel a little resentful. You _wished_ you could afford the luxury to be angry and fly off the handle at a drop of a pin.

Doctor Arkeville was not returning your messages or answering his pages. Calling the secretary at the board offered no real help, as he was always _unavailable_. The man who was supposed to get your equipment and machinery so you could fix your _stupid_ mess went dark. Desperation had you combing through old contacts of your father, and without sharing too much about your classified project, you were subjected to groveling for _anything_ anyone could loan. After practically taking a personal day, re-telling one after another that your father was in the hospital, recounting the moments over and over, someone finally came through.

You got a _fucking_ polysomnogram to test sleep apnea. At least it gave you something new to do, but it was a slap in the face to work with such low-grade equipment.

Sunstreaker glanced your way as you fitted on the blood-pressure cuff. As you had numerous times before, you pumped it up, read the dial, then released the pressure. You spoke, mostly to yourself, “Much better. Not good, but better.”

He grunted in response, and you proceeded to peel it off and charted the numbers. You ventured with professional intent, “How have you been feeling?”

“How have I been _feeling_? Seriously?” Sunstreaker said dryly.

You flipped through his chart, retaining that practiced air, “Yes, how have you been feeling? Do you still feel nauseated? Stomach aches? Insomnia? Fatigue? Mood swings?”

“I feel like slag,” He admitted quietly and sagged. That vulnerability flashed like quicksilver as he switched to snapping, “Can you focus more on getting me out of here than my _feelings_?”

“I am.” You continued to remain patient, and it was all because of those little moments where he just seemed _real_. You documented his behavior, fancying the idea of speaking to a few of the Autobots about your patient. You needed a baseline of his conduct, and maybe you could find a way to reach some kind of amicable understanding with him.

Let's not lie to yourself. You’d find any excuse to get out of here and talk to anyone of those mechs that treated you _so_ much better. _Thanks to Jazz_ , you thought coldly.

You realized Sunstreaker had not responded. He didn’t even huff and puff as usual. You turned your head to take him in, and you drew in a sharp, but quiet breath. He was staring at the heart monitor, watching the screen display just how organic he had become. He touched his chest with a cautious unease, as of something would burst out and take a finger.

You could only guess what was going through that hijacked brain of his. You wished he was more open about it – in a way that was not filled with deprecating insults at a loud volume. You were doing everything you can to change the way of how you’d approach this, to be more attentive and be _softer_ towards this project. You were trying to stop calling him a _project_ altogether. Old habits. 

“Sunstreaker,” You said gently, pulling him out of whatever he was thinking. Processing. Whatever. “We will get you home.”

He turned a repulsed glare your way, and then turned it down at himself, “You keep saying.”

You set the clipboard down on the bed and leaned against it, edging a little closer – but not too close. You were always mindful to stay out of arms reach. You pushed all the sympathy you had into your words. “Because you need reminded. I’ll figure it out. We’re all working hard to help you–”

“Oh, you are?” He snapped, “I’m not getting that impression, _human_.”

You flinched, and where you should have just walked away, you returned fire with that same kind of force, “Could you at least recognize that I’m _trying_?”

“You’re fumbling around like an unaligned and overcharged Dynobot!”

“I don’t even know what that means!” You fearlessly leaned in, “You say this crazy nonsense and I can't understand you!”

“I’m saying you don’t know what you’re doing.” His eyes bore into you. “You’re _limited_.” 

You clenched your hands at your sides, feeling the bite of nails in your palms. You held his gaze longer than you ever had, refusing to back down. The face of Henri warped, and you experienced your first urge to _punch_ it. Instead, you argued, “You animated an organic being! I’m doing all I can to find out why, and how the hell to get you out. Will you _please_ use your damn brain to see that?”

“You want to know what I see?” He growled out, sitting up more, “Your disgusting face. All I see is you and-”

“You don’t want anyone else working with you!” You threw your hands in the air, “And you saw Blue and Sides yester-”

“I see this building every damn solar cycle! These walls! That table!” He stood suddenly and you stepped back, eyes flicking to his hands. He paced and ranted, gesticulating wildly. “Everyday it's the same. Every day, I wait for my leader to come for me, I wait for a medic to help, I wait for my commander to show – but no! I get a flying science-bot that can't find out how and why! I get a slagging scout that can't shut up and I get my fragging brother who can’t watch his own back! And I get you! _You_.”

He jutted his finger at your face, turning that distance between you minuscule, and you backed up into the heart monitor. He snarled, “You keep telling me I’ll be alright when you can't even figure out how I got here! You can’t even get the tools you need to fix this! What good are you?” He snatched you up by the lab-coat and gave you a good shake. “What good are-!?”

The side of his face stung sharply. He sucked in a shocked breath, relinquishing a hand to cover where you slapped. He looked surprised – like he just found out humans had an alt-mode. He must have believed you were too timid, with how you wouldn’t hold eye contact, and that he wouldn’t shake such an explosive response from you. Yet, here you were, eyes afire after you cracked a mean one right across his face.

Sunstreaker let his hand drop, refusing to turn his arctic glare away. You intended on keeping up this assertive display, but that bloom of red on his cheek had your lips part in a tiny gasp. You regretted it. You struck the body of the man you loved. Henri would have never talked to you like this. He would have respected and recognized all the hard work you had already done. How _dare_ he, this foreign invader that took his body; he had no idea about the sleepless nights of slaving over tests and results and experiments.

His bottom lip trembled. Henri never did that.

You blinked, taking in this sudden fact that _Sunstreaker was scared_. He felt abandoned by those he relied on, and all he had was _you_. What did you give him other than a broken promise, pretty words, and dead-ends?

Your fury dissolved in the cool waters of compassion. You would not give up. He was a jerk, but no one deserved to be alone. Everyone deserved as many chances as you were willing to give, and you felt you had a few more pocketed away. You summoned all your kindness within, and offered the softest of smiles, “Sunstreaker, I don’t want to fight.”

Now he blinked, leaning away from you with his brows nearly touching his hairline with maximum confusion. You felt his grip loosen from your coat.

 _That’s it. There we go._ You spoke as you would to a frightened animal, “Please, what can I do-”

“Motherfucker!”

Colors flashed by. Navy blue from a tanktop. Black, red, green, and orange from a collection of tattoos. Glints of metal from piercings. It all just blurred by and shoved your patient like a linebacker. Sunstreaker was literally lifted from the ground and tumbled back over his bed, crashing into a few monitor stands.

You stood there. _Dumbfounded_ might have been an appropriate word to describe you at this moment. You were still processing what just happened.

“I don’t care what body you’re in, I will fuckin’ end you!”

His voice was the final piece of the puzzle. Alan had raced in and probably injured your patient. The peak of today’s insanity had been reached. You finally rediscovered the basic ability of moving your body, and jumped across the room to yank the taller man back by his arm, “What the _hell_ are you doing?!”

“What am I doing?” His chest was heaving, looking between the recovering blond and you, “I...he was yelling at you. Someone heard it from down the hall.”

“You yell at me all the time!”

“That’s different!” He defended, wrenching his arm away to point at the fleshy Autobot, “He was...he was hurting you. I saw-”

“No.” You shook your head to embellish, “No, he wasn’t. I’m fine.”

Alan grabbed your lab-coat and gave you a shake, “ _This_ okay with you? Him grabbing you like this? That fucker deserved what he got.”

“You wanna fight? I’ll rip out your fuel pump.” Sunstreaker was finally on his feet and rounded his bed, steadying himself before bringing up his fists. He swayed some. You should probably make sure he’s okay. Your friend has a tendency to hit like a freight train.

“Dude!” He gestured to himself in a wide sweep. “ _Huu-man_. A human that can knock you on your ass.”

You stepped between the two, arms outstretched. You pointed at your patient, “You. Sit.”

Sunstreaker’s lip twitched, and he didn’t make a move. You held your position, tilting your head to accentuate just how _done_ you were. You repeated, slower, _harder_ , “Not _now_. I said _sit_.”

He faltered, and the only thing keeping him standing was pride. Eventually, he relinquished it. With a grunt and a petulant cross to his arms, he obeyed. Satisfied with that, you then turned to Alan, “You injure him again, and I promise you will regret it.”

Alan chuckled as he puffed out his chest, “Yeah, okay.”

This is all you needed. Two posturing men forgetting who was _really_ in charge. You would not have this chaos add on to what you’ve already endured. You kept silent, locking your eyes on his, summoning your father’s famous stare of intimidation. That kind of intensity was renowned for battling back encyclopedia and vacuum salesmen.

The tech glanced away nervously, “Shit, fine.”

“Good,” You relented and stole a recovering breath, “Now, why are you here?”

Adjusting his stance to something more relaxed, he reached in his back cargo pocket and produced a notepad, “I just have a report from my team. We hit a wall.”

“What do you have so far?”

“The obvious: Henri’s system was linked to the terminals in the control room and the energon must have hit something with an electric current; current follows from the source of power down the liquid and to our metal boys standing in it all.” He handed the notepad to you, “I reviewed the research of using energon as a fuel to see if it could give something, _anything_ on why it became more of a conductor before instantly exploding. Turns out we don’t know enough about energon to explain how a robot’s brain traveled our systems to a dude. Kinda need an expert in that field.”

“And there’s no human smart enough,” Sunstreaker muttered with a roll to his eyes, “I’m _shocked_ , really.”

Alan’s eye twitched. He wanted to retort. Mostly, he wanted to take his sarcasm and twist it into a pun, because, you know, he _was_ shocked. Get it?

Thankfully, for your sanity, you cut him off, “Jetfire has been feeding me what he can. He’s also stumped on why this happened. I’ll let him know what we got as soon as we’re done here.”

“Maybe they could answer the question of why _him_ and not Blue or Sides? Could it really just be a coincidence?

You crossed your arms, “Electrical currents are random. Path of least resistance and all. You know that.”

“I do, and I wouldn’t question it if it wasn’t for one _crazy bitch_ of an anomaly.”

“Which is?”

“You.”

He paused for dramatic effect, but it only made you tilt your head, “I’m sorry?” It wasn’t an apology but sounded pretty close. Then your brows furrowed. _Did he just call you a crazy bitch?_

“You were caught in the current, got zapped to hell. I'm no doctor, but I’ve seen what electricity does to a person. You popped back up in minutes without a single burn.”

You looked down at yourself. You never once thought about that moment when your body seized up in a blaze of fire, when you couldn’t breathe, when you couldn’t _scream_. You never dared thought of what _should_ have happened. You were so focused on what _did_ and moved on without thinking about it at all. If anything else, you were deliberately avoiding it, refusing to add to the nightmare fuel. Irresponsible, you know, but why not add a little more to your _bad decisions_ pile and ignore what was obviously a red flag.

“You shouldn’t be standing. Getting that amount of amperage—that blew out the side of a metal wall and fried all of that machinery—it should have stopped your heart. It should have fucked up your nervous system, your brain, you should have been split open to the god damn _bone_. You should have skin grafts for days.”

“I was cleared by the field medic-”

“Yeah, I read his report. He didn’t _see_ what happened to you. I did.”

“She’s obviously fine,” Sunstreaker waved his hand dismissively.

“You don’t know her.” He bared his teeth, “No one asked you.”

“I don’t care if anyone does,” He rose to his feet, turning his side to him as would any trained fighter, “I talk when I please.”

Alan waved his hands about, “Yeah, you're flapping your jaw, but all I hear is _hit me, hit me_. Sit down before you get hurt. _Again._ ”

“Try and make me, I’m ready this time,” He edged closer, “You don’t tell me what to do, meatbag.”

“Meat-bag? Welcome to the club, dumbass.”

“Stop! Stop, please.” There was a waver to your plea. You rubbed your face before holding up your shaking hands, as if surrendering, “Please. This is...just stop. I need a minute...”

You could have been shocked and surprised that they _actually_ listened, silently watching. Maybe because you had to stagger back and brace yourself against the wall. Alan made a move towards you, but you held up a staying hand. You were shaking so hard, you could have vibrated down to a molecular composition and went right through that wall. Your mind was reviewing the data at a rapid pace, and you didn’t like what you were seeing.

 _How did I survive?_ The chanting came louder and louder before the Scientist within hushed the room. _It was not important right now_ , she chided your more panicking side. All that mattered was the project. All that mattered was you cleaning up this mess of an experiment. What happened to you was not imperative and not life-threatening. You can discuss the conductive effects of energon with Jetfire at another time, but right now, you had a suffering patient.

You risked surveying the two, and they waited. Alan edged closer and closer, brows raised in question. Sunstreaker stood, blinking with his head tilted, almost curious like. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with the purpose they needed to function. You straightened and smoothed your lab-coat, realigning your priorities, and reminding yourself of the situation at hand. Tempers were flying, and your patient was experiencing almost a claustrophobic reaction to having a reduced amount of outside stimuli. He was experiencing some sort of depression, of feeling neglected and abandoned by his own. You could play as a surrogate and soothe those hurts – but you were _human_. It didn’t matter if he made it difficult and that you couldn’t have a decent conversation with him; in the end, he was still your patient and you had to do whatever you could to reduce the stressors this could cause on the body. 

The solution finally surfaced as soon as you began searching. “We need to get out of this place.”

“Finally.”

“What? Now?”

You massaged your temples, “We need a break. We’ve been cooped up, staring at data for weeks. We need to get off base, go into the city and find a distraction. Do something-”

“I know a good club-” Alan started.

“No,” You said, “nothing inappropriate. Dinner, let’s get dinner. Just better food, different scenery. Something good and wholesome.”

He lowered his voice, shielding his mouth from the Autobot – but it was just insultingly obvious as he still spoke loud enough for him to hear, “Think they’ll let _it_ outside base?”

You gave Sunstreaker a smidge of credit as he only crossed his arms in response, glaring at the man. You stuck your hands in your pockets and cocked a brow, “You forget who my father is? I have the credentials to smuggle in a damn warhead if I wanted.”

“ _Excellent_ ,” Alan chortled approvingly, “Wacky adventures abound. I’ll get the car.”

“Ooh wait, get Blue-”

“Fuck that, I’m driving!” He shouted as he practically slammed his whole body into the door before it opened, sneakers squeaking as he dashed down the hall like a little kid going to the toy store. His voice echoed, “Clear a path! I’m goin’ on a field trip!”

Your shoulders sagged some as you pressed on the bridge of your nose. Part of you started to question if this was a good idea. _Wacky adventures abound_. Please, God, no more surprises.

Your attention was drawn to your patient as you heard the shifting of fabric. Sunstreaker sat back down on the bed, “So... he’s got debris up his tailpipe.”

You took a moment to translate what that could possibly mean, then started pulling a few emergency supplies for this little excursion, just in case. “Alan’s a bit of a hothead, but he means well.”

“Hothead? No, Hot Rod is a hothead. This was him playing bodyguard. Or was that just an excuse to toss his friend’s body across the room?”

You paused a moment, considering how to respond, “He’s protective. Keep that in mind next time you put your hands on me again.”

That came off more threatening than you intended, and you turned to him quickly, seeing that’s exactly how he took it. You struggled to make amends, “He lived with my family for a while, so we’ve kinda become like siblings – like you and Sideswipe. After we lost Henri, he...” You nearly bit your tongue, glancing away. What the _hell_ were you doing? Sharing that part of your past with the likes of _this_ alien? You concluded sharply, “He’s just worried about me.”

Awkward silence ensued as you proceeded to busy yourself, looking him over for serious injuries beyond welts and scrapes. He watched you closely as you avoided eye-contact, grinding your teeth at how you said it so casually. _After we lost Henri._ Your fiancé was not lost, he was waiting. He would have to wait just a little while longer while you untangled this mess.

“You're holding a lot back. I don’t have to be human to see that.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from meeting those electric blue eyes. It took you aback and stole your breath. You stared at Sunstreaker, wondering if you heard him right. Did he try speaking Cybertronian again? You stood and put a semi-comfortable distance between you, crossing your arms to soothe yourself. You looked down at your worn sneakers, throwing up that wall of ice, “It’s complicated. I don’t plan on having you stay in that body for long, so just focus on yourself.”

He snorted, “Yeah, forget I said anything.”

Alan wasn’t just here to help his best friend. He wasn’t just here to support and help you. He was here to make right what he did wrong, to fix one of the biggest mistakes of his life. You weren't the only one responsible for Henri’s condition.

The door opened, and your assistant popped her head in. You welcomed the distraction, shoving your trembling hands in your pockets, and offered Holly a slight smile, “Yes?”

She returned your kind expression with a frown, “Prowl has arrived, and demands your presence immediately. As in _now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Prowl's back! We have to hide!" Bluestreak screams, nearly ripping off the chevron on his helm.  
> "But WHERE!?" Sideswipe latches onto him, "Wait, I have an idea - and it just might work..."
> 
> Prowl stands in the parking lot, searching back and forth among the rows of cars. He doesn't have time for this. As usual, he wonders if a machine-gun would solve his problems.  
> It would. It so would.


	9. You are different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's no question that you'll survive an encounter with Prowl - but with how much of you left intact?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be a home-owner and a Transformers fan means staring at your dishwasher, whispering "I wont tell anyone your secret. Just PLEASE tell me why you're not washing the top rack of dishes. How do I FIX YOU!?"
> 
> [ ._. ]

“I want to go.”

“I said no,” You repeated firmly with all the maternal energy you could muster.

“Please?” From the car’s speakers came more whining, “Please, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease-”

Sunstreaker hid his face in his hands for the duration of Bluestreak’s begging, and there was one point he rocked in place, muttering. He had enough as he struck the dashboard, “Primus help me, I _will_ rip out your rotary belt!”

“I’m not asking _you_!” His tone raised a few pitches, “Why can't I go? Eva? Eva? Eva? Hey Eva?”

Now you were rubbing your temples. You were hoping to have a few enjoyable moments sitting in Bluestreak’s driver seat, but no. You were between two screaming and arguing aliens, about to go have a _chat_ with another famously unpleasant one. As Sunstreaker continued to snappishly demand silence while Bluestreak continued to call for your attention _incessantly_ , you thought of Jazz. Being called _Baby Girl_ against your will didn’t seem so bad. You idly thought about what he was up to. Did he make it to their space station all the way across the galaxy?

“Why can't I go? Why are you ignoring me? Eva? I want to go, pleaseletmego-”

“Blue!” You said, jaw clenched, “Bluestreak. Alan wants to drive.”

He argued, and you could practically see the petulant pout and the crossed arms in his tone, “I can drive you better than that human paint-job. Besides, he’s mean! To me, to you, to everyone!”

You noticed Sunstreaker was looking your way curiously, brow quirked. You scrunched your face at him as he shrugged, “What? I’m just wondering how you put up with it.”

“Practice,” You said, turning your attention to your window, taking in the late afternoon light that barely pierced the canopy. The drive to the Autobot’s base within the forest always seemed a little eerie this time of day. You never watched horror films anymore – not that you gave yourself time – but you imagined it would be the perfect setting for that chase-in-the-woods type movie.

“Ok, how about this?” Bluestreak continued to push, “Paint-Job can drive himself, and I’ll drive you two. I can tell you all what I’ve been doing since last time I saw you, and you’ll arrive at your little human place safely.”

“You just want to talk her audio-receptors off,” Sunstreaker groaned for the trillionth time, “Please, _no,_ I can't fraggin’ listen to you anymore. I will manually deactivate my atmo-intake to offline myself.”

Once you humanized the bot-terms your alien patient used, you snorted out a sharp laugh. That earned you a scowl from the passenger, teetering between insulted and confused. You turned your attention to your pleading ride, “Listen, I appreciate the offer, I really do. Right now, I don’t even know if we’re able to go. If Doctor Arkeville is back with Prowl, I may get busy again.”

“But it’s getting late,” Bluestreak whined, “You’re always working. Are you even taking care of yourself?”

You glanced at Sunstreaker, his brows all over the place as you responded, “I’m managing. I have something more important that needs cared for.”

“But _you_ are-” The sniper began, and was promptly silenced by your patient.

“Will you just _stop?_ Just stop talking for one nanoklick. You can't go, no one cares, no one _wants_ you, so shut your fragging mouthpiece!”

“Hey!” You snapped as furiously as a dog over their bone when you heard those keywords. _No one wants you_. You leaned over his way, trying to square yourself up a little more to appear intimidating, “You don’t talk to him like that – not when I’m around. You need to work on that attitude of yours because if you don’t straight up, I’m telling Prowl-”

“Good,” Sunstreaker hunched down to look you right in the eye. There was a small curve to his lip, and you realized he was _insulting_ you by hunkering down to meet your pitiful little display. He huffed through his nose, “Maybe then he’ll actually make the time to _talk_ to me, finally. Go ahead. Run right to him and tell on me, little human, because _I don’t care_.”

You seethed between clenched teeth, words clamoring together to try and get out and lash this _insufferable_ child across the face. Every insult, every come-back, every curse-word that would make your tattooed friend beam like a villain proud of his apprentice, all clawed up your tightening throat. You lurched against the steering wheel with a sudden jerk, and Bluestreak’s doors flew open, “We’re here, we’re here. Stop fighting, we’re here.”

Sunstreaker didn’t give you a second glance as he hurled himself out of the car. You absorbed your surroundings in the dimming evening light, finding the silhouette of two mechs not far from the backdrop of the wide warehouse-like building. Your eyes traced their tall frames, but one you noted the splay of his doorwings, and you caught on the shadowed black and white markings of his plating. His sharp blue optics regarded the blond storming up to him and _Sunstreaker was about to confront Prowl_.

Shit.

You threw yourself out, catching on the seatbelt. Bluestreak made a few concerned noises as you finally unbuckled yourself and ran for Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Prowl. You didn’t know the Commander too well, only that he was famously difficult, rude, and the current liaison went back to therapy after seeing him return. The thought of him coldly punting that human body back in the forest became an outcome you didn’t want to risk.

Prowl, much to Sunstreaker’s irritation, turn his attention to you, “Doctor Morgan, you’ve kept me waiting.”

You opened your mouth, unsure if this called for an apology or snark, but Sunstreaker stole your turn and yelled, “Where the frag have you been?”

“In this country’s capital,” He responded dryly. Sideswipe beside him was waving his hands for everyone to _calm down_.

You could _feel_ the anger from Sunstreaker, finding yourself balling fists at your sides. He grounded out, “I _know_ that, but-”

“I don’t have the time to listen to you, right now,” The officer had an irritated fray to his tone, “I’ll call you when I want you – but not _now_.”

From the corner of your eye, Sunstreaker’s tall frame slumped. You turned a little more to take in his reaction, expecting anger, fury, the wrath of a thousand collapsing suns hell-bent with taking this dimension with them – but no. He looked _wounded_. The catch in your breath matched the hitch in your heartbeat. _No one wants you_.

Prowl continued curtly, “Doctor Morgan, I’d demand a current status report, but I see there hasn’t been any improvement since I-”

“ _Tsssk!_ ” You _hissed_ at the Autobot Commander as you would a child or a dog, prompting harshly to _stop_ whatever they were up to. You did this to Prowl. You realized you did this to _Prowl_ , and you were mortified. You drew in a slow breath, resisting the impulse to steal a glance at the towering Autobot, preferring to lock your wide eyes with Sunstreaker’s blinking ones.

He slowly crossed his arms, shifting his weight to one leg as he cocked his head, and that annoying little smirk, to the side. He leaned in, eyes alight with amusement, whispering, “So, what are you gonna do now?”

“Probably die,” You wheezed.

“Then why’d you go and do something stupid like that?”

Why indeed? Why did you act so rashly over someone who clearly was not grateful for your intervention? If anything else, he thought it was _funny._ It was that moment, a flash of despair and hopelessness that you seen in his posture, that made you act. His were foreign expressions on a familiar face, but they were _human_. He wanted guidance from those who were supposed to lead him, but to be brushed off? To feel abandoned?

You held his gaze, wishing you could find the right thing to say. You searched yourself, flipped through the dictionary to find something, anything, that could convey this very feeling you had. You wanted him to know, that you could never truly recognize what he was going through, but he wasn’t _alone_. As a caretaker, you would never, _ever_ , let him feel deserted.

His smirk fell, and slowly, he leaned away. That arrogant _you’re-in-trouble_ squint to his bright eyes faded to something wider and more puzzled. His brows pinched in question, “What?” 

You let out a loud huff, rolling back your shoulders to straighten your stance, “I’m going to talk with Prowl for a bit. I need to let him know what’s going on, and hopefully, we’ll have something to go on in regards with what to do next.”

Sunstreaker’s arms dropped to his sides, glancing over at the looming officer, “Uh...okay.”

Your name on Prowl’s vocals was deep and dangerous, “Doctor Morgan-”

You whipped up a silencing hand so fast, you could have conjured a storm off the coast. Instead, you conjured an internal shriek. _What the hell are you doing!?_ You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut, and you willed your strongest tone, “In a moment. I am speaking with my patient.”

When you opened your eyes, your _patient’s_ mouth was twisted to a gaping smile. It almost had you tickled that he was so amused by this, but it was like watching _someone else_ play with fire – he wasn’t the one getting burned. His hand came up to rub it away, “Ah...anything else, _doctor_?”

He called you Doctor. That should count for something. “We’re still going out tonight, but I need to stop at my apartment. If you would give Prowl and I some time and go with Sideswipe. Bluestreak can give me a lift and we’ll meet up there later, find you some proper attire.”

“No, _I’ll_ take Doctor Morgan,” Prowl rumbled, and you felt his footfalls beside you, “I’ll drive her _personally_ to the location to meet up for your _night out_. All of you, dismissed. Now.”

It wasn’t often where you made peace with death. This was still not one of those moments, you were not at peace, you were inwardly freaking out. Sunstreaker muttering _good luck_ wasn’t much help, and every iota of sympathy you felt towards the alien dissolved in a bitter muck that lodged in your throat. You missed Jazz. You would let him call you all the scandalous names in the world if it meant he would trade places with Prowl right at this moment.

Sideswipe transformed fluidly, and your patient made off with the better end of the deal. Bluestreak wasn’t far behind, but he was clearly struggling with leaving you alone. This was it. You were somewhat alone with the Autobot Commander, save for whoever was in the large warehouse bunker behind him. You turned to meet your fate.

He was closer than he originally was. So much so, you bent your neck far to meet his face. You stole a few strides back, and the mech bent over you menacingly, “You will _never_ address me with _noises_ or _servos_ , do you understand, _human_?”

 _He won’t kill you_ , you told yourself, though it was no small comfort. A smaller, quieter voice countered, _they’ll never find the body._

“I see leaving you to mind my soldier was a mistake. Going out? For a break? A _party_?”

And _snap_. You were on your toes, as much good as it did you, “Do I look like I'm in the mood to _party_?! Do you have any idea how hard this is? I am working with the bare minimum – I had a _lab_! I went from having state of the art equipment to a fucking _typewriter_! Everyone keeps telling me _‘fix it, fix it,’_ but how can I when I can't even get what I need!? And _you_ -” You aimed a finger at him, “You are _killing_ my neck right now. I have adopted a _shit_ posture for the last week, and I am _feeling_ it. You come down here or-” 

_Or what_ , his stern face practically said, but he knelt down, and your tirade was over just like that. You inhaled sharply as he set a hand beside you, leaning down more, “What do you need?”

“Pa-Pardon?” All that spine you just had shriveled like a salted slug.

“You said you can't get what you need. What do you need to get your...human machinery?”

 _Cooperation. Progress. Not death_. You composed yourself, smoothing your lab coat, “I need to speak with Doctor Arkeville. I need him to requisition replacements.”

“Doctor Ivan Arkeville is still in your nation’s capital,” His optics peered, “were you not aware?”

“Of _course_ he is,” You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing out a groan, “No. God-damn it, no, I wasn’t. I’ve been in the dark since...I don’t know. He’s not returning my messages.” You adjusted your stance, sliding your hand back over your hair to squeeze your neck, looking up to take in the mech, “My job literally is on hold till someone can give me something to work with. Do you know how frustrating that is? All I can do now is to keep the body as healthy as I can, but until I can get my hands on a damn MRI or any of my neurological equipment, I’m stuck.”

“I see,” Prowl said, the accusatory undertones never waning, “And this whole escapade of gallivanting out in your human city?”

The edge returned to your tone, “With all due respect, you have _no_ idea what your soldier is going through. Psychologically, he’s enduring traumas that probably haven’t been named in medical texts yet. I’m doing everything I can to lessen the stressors, not only to save the body, but to keep him _sane_. A little outside distraction may do him some good. Someplace open and neutral, not white-washed walls and blood tests.”

“And is this some inane medical opinion of yours?”

Being questioned by an alien had a different flavor than being doubted by your coworkers of the older male variety. Either way, you still hated the taste of it, and your face showed it, “Tell me, how much of our biological makeup have _you_ studied? Do you want to get started _right now_? I have the twenty-ninth edition of Henry Gray’s _Anatomy of the Human Body_ – would you like a look? Check my work? I’m so _used_ to having my work checked, why not you too?”

He was unaffected by your little fit, scoffing, “You have others review you often? Perhaps my judgment to leave my soldier to you was a bad move-”

“I’m doubted because I’m a woman – female! Working in an industry with old men and cocky boys who think my brain couldn’t possibly fathom past laundry detergent and baking muffins!” Your near shriek sent a flock of birds overhead. You calmed to a trembling snarl, “I _have_ to fix this. When the committee finally decides to send someone out, they will take one look at me and say _‘that’s why the project failed’_. If you’re going to judge me, fine – just make sure it’s on my merit, and now how others see me.”

Prowl took one long look at you before glancing away, rubbing the back of his neck, “Right, gender. You organics do that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, we do.”

“Completely asinine to judge another on a weird concept such as that. You seem competent enough.”

“I agree,” You crossed your arms, feeling the cold of the night really start to set in, “And I’ll try my best to take that as a compliment.”

He turned his bright optics back on you, “I’ll defer to your judgment, then. If you feel taking my soldier for a... _night out_ is conducive to his wellbeing, then I won’t interfere.”

“Thank you,” You sighed out the weight bearing on your shoulders.

Prowl canted his head to the side, that blue stare narrowing into slits, “You should get out as well. Never tagged you as the snappish kind; timid, but not with _claws_.”

You got why you were labeled as timid. You somewhat were among these titans, at first. With current events wearing you raw, _timid_ was a luxury. You didn’t want to be viewed as a pushover, but you also didn’t want the reputation of being disrespectful. You averted your eyes sheepishly, rubbing your brow, “I'm...sorry about my outburst. You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m sorry I snapped.”

There was silence. From the cold forest, there wasn’t much noise. You caught on to faint mechanical sounds of the Autobot before you, but no real response. Did you say something wrong? You turned your eyes back up, finding the glow of his optics casting a soft light, betraying his partially opened mouth.

“Prowl – er, Sir?”

“What did you say?”

“Which part?” You asked slowly, “Sorry? You didn’t deserve-?”

“That, that word.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“It’s an apology,” You ventured cautiously, “a word used for...apologies.”

“I know what it means,” He said quickly, standing up and waving his hand at you, “It’s just...I don’t hear it often...it’s _new_.”

What the hell was happening right now? You watched as the feared Autobot Commander pace, leaving you blinking and wondering if you were _actually_ killed from when you mom-hissed the mech to silence, and this was all just some crazy afterlife dimension where _apologies were new_. He stopped in his tracks, glanced at you, then clearing his vocals with a few graveled warbles of static.

“Apology accepted, but not necessary,” He said, then transformed. You were robbed of the show in the dim outdoors, but jumped as his cab lit up, driver door opened invitingly, “If you would.”

You were not thrilled to accept a ride from Prowl, but your choices were that, or walk in this cold autumn night. You carefully sat down in the driver seat, swinging your legs in, mindful not to jostle or kick anything. You never got any indication they felt a whole lot in their interior, but you certainly didn’t want to test anything by playing patty-cake with the steering wheel. How mad would Prowl be if you played with the siren?

“Besides your current standstill with my soldier, have you anything else to report?” His voice was all around you, and it made you jump.

“I’ll need to go over a few points in regards to energon and its conductivity. There were...too many unexplained anomalies during that explosion. I don’t know if we’ll find any answers to how we can best return Sunstreaker to his body, but it’s a stone we can't leave unturned,” You said, wringing your hands in your lap. The one thing you were pushing far in the back of your mind, the biggest reason you wanted to get out of that research facility tonight, was brought right back up.

“Anomalies, such as you,” He stated evenly, “It was brought to my attention that organics don’t often survive what you’ve endured.”

“I’m fine,” You dismissed inaudibly, wanting very much not to think about it, “There are other things that need attention.”

“Agreed,” He said with this coldness you oddly appreciated at the moment.

A few heartbeats of silence followed, and you didn’t want it going past thirteen, “Have you heard anything else from the Autobot Station?”

You nearly regretted bringing it up when Prowl growled out a sigh, “Nothing new since the last burst. We’re on our own, for now. They could spare a few medics – hell, even a scientist. You said _you're_ frustrated at not having the tools you need to complete your job? I can sympathize, doctor.”

It was a knee-jerk response you couldn’t stop, “Are _you_ okay?”

“Am I...okay?” He echoed, absolutely baffled, “Am I okay?”

You were steeling yourself for that movie-esque tirade of a crazy rant beginning with _‘am I okay? No! I’m not okay!’_

“I’m...okay. Yes, I’m fine,” he responded curtly, “Just aggravated.”

There was this little nagging within that pushed you more and more to facilitate this working relationship with the unpleasant Autobot Commander, “I’m trying my best to not add to it.”

“I do come off as cross with you, don’t I?” There was a lightness in his tone that made you squint as if that would make your hearing improve.

You risked a playful chuckle, “You have a reputation as being crossed all the time, Sir.”

“I am forced to work on a planet that I did _not_ want to come to, populated by lesser fleshlings, with a team of bots who would rather see the sights than scout for enemies. How would _you_ manage?”

 _Lesser fleshlings_. It still somewhat stung, but you swallowed it down, “I suppose I would be a little irritated, as well.” He responded with an agreeable grunt, and you added on, “I don’t want to let you, or anyone else, down. I really do want to help, even if you see me as... _limited_.”

There was this peculiar silence that took place, and you weren't sure how to interpret it. Maybe Prowl just decided the conversation was over, and he agreed. You were this little worthless creature, and no matter where you were – with aliens or humans – you were begging to be seen as anything else but.

“You are _different_ , Doctor Morgan.”

 _Different_ doesn’t usually mean _good_. You fought the snap-reaction of responding with _‘different how?’_ and traded it for looking out the window. He had exited the wooded area and approached the gate leading out of the government-owned property. His siren lights flashed on, and he did not slow his approach. Instead, he sped up, and you could have sworn he hummed with a tinge of enjoyment. The scramble of the guards opening the gate had you suspecting he already had these poor men trained. As much as you had a distaste for the Autobot practically bullying your fellow workers, you still couldn’t bite back that snort of laughter.

Prowl’s internal lighting glowed briefly before dimming just as quick. Bluestreak did the same thing when he would laugh, his dashboard brightening up with amusement. It was hard to imagine it being the same with the pragmatic officer. You ventured to chase away the quiet, “Was there anything else you needed to discuss?”

“Yes,” He said simply, “I do not trust Doctor Ivan Arkeville.”

It was so casual, you nearly missed just how damning it was. Doctor Arkeville, who would have been your father-in-law had you made it to your wedding day, was a blunt, peevish old bastard, but never came off as deceitful. When it finally processed after several blinking moments, you barked, “Oh, _that’s all_? Well then, would you like to tell me how exactly I should respond to that?”

“I wasn’t going to broach you on the subject till now. I had figured you were privy to what was going on, that you were a party to the decisions made.”

You rubbed your forehead, hating being left in whatever darkness you were placed in, “I’m only going to ask you to do this once: Insult my intelligence, and tell me _what_ you think I know.”

“Doctor Ivan Arkeville and Doctor Markus Morgan were responsible for sending regular reports to the research committee in regards to the goings-on within these three research facilities. My accompaniment to your nation’s capital revealed that your classified research was held back,” He reported in this commanding tone, but it was when that tone softened, _that_ had your heart balancing a row of red flags. You’ve never heard of Prowl being _considerate_ , “Testing Henri Arkeville was not sanctioned. The purpose of your Medical Division was to study the effects of energon on the human frame, not for the experiments you had been conducting.”

Prowl must have slipped into Cybertronian because what he was saying made no sense. You opened your mouth, but you weren't sure how to describe the noises that came out. Perhaps you de-evolved to a single-celled organism and stuttered out a distressed cry for those in your colony to flee. You somehow managed a name, “I...Ivan...”

“Doctor Ivan Arkeville rushed to the committee to downplay the incident and propose new research to slow them down. It had worked for a time, but when they discovered your parental unit was in intensive care, they brought Ivan into custody for a proper interrogation. It was then that he was unable to respond to your messages. I thought you knew and were playing like you didn’t. I suspected you were lying to me.”

Your fingers slicked over the sweat beading on your hairline. You felt clammy, the color draining from your face, and you rubbed it in an attempt to keep yourself from washing out completely. You tried to rationalize, tried to see how this was true. Prowl was lying – no, he wouldn’t. Why would he? He wouldn’t benefit. No one would benefit from lying. Maybe it was all just one big misunderstanding.

“We’re funded by the government. How could they think...?”

Your breaths came faster, unable to finish the sentence. _How could they think to get away with it?_ They could. Project Arkeville was designated as _classified_. You had no idea what was on those reports Doctor Arkeville and your father sent out. It was very possible to get away with it. No one _knew_ what you were doing – you had a whole wing for your lab, all to your team! No one was to know about the sensitive subject of human experimentation...

Your vision blurred, and the vestiges of darkness started to creep in around your vision. You had to regulate your breathing, or you would pass out. You tried to slow yourself down, voicing your horrid revelation, “Oh God...we were committing...human testing without...this is illegal...this is...”

Flashes of faces blipped across your mind’s eye. Your _team_.

“Did-did you tell anyone?”

“I find myself in a difficult position,” Prowl continued to keep his tone smooth and calm, “When Ivan received word he was to be incarcerated, he was able to share a heated exchange with me. It seems, if your government were to find out about Sunstreaker, the facility may be shut down and you and those complicit would be removed from the project and confined.”

This was hard to swallow. It lodged in your throat and grew larger and larger, making you gag, making you choke. It was getting warmer, and harder to breathe. You rolled down the window as he continued.

“What I cannot have is my soldier being quarantined away from Autobot Command. I refuse to be removed from having a say in regards to the spark within that fleshling body, and he will not be taken, not while I’m in command. I have strict orders to facilitate good relations with the locals of this planet, and I cannot do that if I have to blast them to keep my soldier from your own government’s experimentation,” He paused a bit, as if realizing the threat he just made to the same kind of _fleshling_ he escorted was in poor taste. He lowered his voice, but it did nothing to seem less imposing, “Long story short, I was told you were the best option to give me the results I want.” 

The human mind is hardly explainable. Your frantic thoughts turned the time your mother tried to teach you how to knit, and how you juggled balls of yarn in those little girl arms of yours. You tripped, and they fell, bouncing softly in all different directions, unraveling and scattering, screaming _run_. You tried to stop them, clutching the strings in your slender fingers, and they just tangled in on themselves and others. It was funny to your mother. It was absolute chaos for you. All those balls of yarn coming undone, and you, not even knowing where to start.

You didn’t realize Prowl was waiting for you to speak up. He added a little more, and you dared believe it was for your benefit, “I am the current Commander at this post. It is my job, as it always has, to keep any information out of enemy hands. I cannot risk Sunstreaker’s detainment. I’ll be frank, I do not trust your race to have our best interests in mind – I don’t trust _any_ race to. But _you_ , you are different. You _could_ be someone I can trust. I need to know, will you be turning Sunstreaker over to your own?”

You’d be an absolute moron to admit it right now. You could tell him what he wants to hear and run to D.C. _tonight_. You could get with Alan, tell him the whole thing, get in his car, and _drive_. You could plead your innocence, and just turn everything over _tonight_.

Pride was a stupid thing to have, so you’ll lean more towards devotion. You couldn’t risk Henri. You couldn’t risk some slapdash team using brute-force methods to work on Sunstreaker. You could lose your fiancé. You could lose Sunstreaker, and let down these strange friends you made. They were relying on you. They _needed_ you.

“Doctor Morgan,” Prowl prompted sharply.

You rested back against the headrest, the cold air feeling pleasant on your damp face, “You just told me that I’ve been lied to for years by the men I called family and that I've committed criminal acts of unauthorized human experimentation on the man I love. _Give me a minute._ ”

He did. You would have been surprised, but you were busy wiping away the sweat. _Family_. Your father knew. He had to. Doctor Arkeville couldn’t be alone in this – but your dad would never lie to you. Right?

“I need to know,” He pressed after exactly a _minute_ , his voice quiet and urgent, “Will you be turning Sunstreaker over to your government?”

Your hands were all over the place: rubbing your face, slicking back your hair, scratching your neck, picking at your sleeves – just constantly moving. You had a cynical laugh, “You just said you’d murder anyone who tried and take him.”

“I did,” He confirmed.

“And even if you didn't, my answer would be the same,” You said, a slight warble to your tone. You choked down a few sobs that wanted to make themselves present and continued, “This is _my_ project, and I promised Sunstreaker I was going to get him out. When I do, I’m going to bring back Henri, and everything will go back to being the way they were.”

“Things never go back to how they were,” He muttered.

“You better hope they do, or I am going to lose my god-damn mind,” You finally settled, leaning your head out the window, “they have to. They just have to. I can't take it anymore.”

There was a hesitance on his end, words that began and stopped, and you whined, “Oh god, there’s more, isn’t there?”

“There is,” Prowl turned down a dark street, but it felt like he was still turning, spinning, spinning, your head was _spinning_.

“Your committee is sending a team of inspectors ahead of schedule. They’ll be here any day now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluestreak is laying in the road, trying to crawl his way back, crying pitifully, "I left her! I'm a MONSTER! I have to go back! My little defenseless squishy! BLEASE LET ME GOOOO!"  
> Sideswipe is sitting on him, wrestling to pull him back, "It's too late for her! She's a goner! Prowl probably ate her by now, man! We gotta go!"  
> "NOOOOO! BLEASE NOOOO!"  
> Sunstreaker sits on the side of the road, watching, shivering. He hates this. He craves death.


	10. That’s counter-productive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your night out, just like everything else lately, doesn't turn out like how you planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changes once again - I hope it's not too off-putting.  
> I changed the chapter titles because...well what I was trying to do wasn't going to work, and...I wasn't FEELING it, Y'know? It wasn't feeling very natural and organic. So I renamed the chapter titles snippets from each piece, and it feels much better.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me while I try to figure things out. Just tryin to find my niche, yeah?
> 
> Enjoy a brief history lesson from the 60s
> 
> <3

You were born in the wrong era.

It was something your mother told you often. It wasn’t in that chiding _‘you should be learning how to hem instead of memorizing cellular structure’_ sort of way, but more along the lines of beaming with pride, accompanied with that faint mournful smile.

If it hadn’t already been said, you were always a bright child, so inquisitive and eager to _learn_ – but you were very picky on _what_ you wanted to learn. Your mother handed you that thick Betty Crocker cookbook, but would much rather leaf through _Inside the Atom_ , by Isaac Asimov. Instead of trying to force you into the mold of a woman of the times, she _encouraged_ you, all the while praying for the world to change, because who would want a wife who would dedicate themselves to a career instead of childrearing?

Your mother kept a hopeful eye on the events unfolding around the world. You were blissfully ignorant to the goings-on of your childhood, never realizing how much the woman who encouraged you also feared for your future. Hope started to blossom when President John F. Kennedy appointed First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt to chair the Commission on the Status of Women. A few years later, he signed the Equal Pay Act of nineteen sixty-three. You remember one moment in your pre-adolescence, she had the most beautiful smile, sharing with you an article about how the Soviets sent their first woman into space.

You didn’t understand for the longest time why that was so important to her. You never knew what it was like to have expectations forced on you. Your parents were supportive and wonderful. People could even say you were spoiled, having the way paved with the help of your father, almost like he was proud of the fact he sired a brilliant woman to break the stereotype. You wouldn’t make much of a wife since you had no idea how to cross-stitch and bake a simple rye, but you’d made a _damn_ good assistant in his lab.

Before you graduated high school, you would change your mind.

It wouldn’t be until several years later that the disease would have a name.

Your mother felt under the weather one day, then half-way through the week she was coughing up blood and wheezing. No one knew what this was, not even your father – but medical science wasn’t his expertise. You remembered the feeling of plastic sticking to your skin as you donned the nurse’s quarantined suit and that awful chemical smell of it all. You remembered the weight of your mother’s thin hands on the back of your head, wishing so much she could touch your hair. You remembered her frail voice, telling you that baking bread was basic chemistry and to use your old beaker set to mix it all together if that will help you enjoy cooking a little more.

You remembered how she never made it through another week.

Instead of going to the dance that year, you sat in bed, reading _A Textbook of Bacteriology_ by R.W. Fairbrother, among many others.

Your path had changed. You wanted to learn everything about the medical field. You wanted to save lives from behind a microscope. You would use your brilliance to make sure what happened to you would never happen to anyone else. With your father still giving you the foundation you needed to build your future, and with Henri at your side urging you on with support and adoration, you wouldn’t let anyone stop you.

Not even those who were set in their ways. You would always be a woman outside of your station, commanding an authority that was seen as bratty and hormonal. You would always be the _princess_ of the great Doctor Markus Morgan. Before Henri’s accident, you knew you starting a laboratory on your own would be difficult, you _needed_ your fiancé to help because no one would take you seriously. Even when you were Lead Researcher of your team, you still had so many issues garnering respect with most people.

Keywords: _most_ people.

Maybe that’s why you fell in league so comfortably with the alien race. The Autobots did not judge you on your gender, but your merit. _And_ your species, but that’s neither here not there.

Maybe that’s why, when you learned your father, the man who supported you, may have been lying to you – _using_ you, left an unfathomable wound in your heart. 

“Two years is a long time to lie, Eve.” Alan paced about your living room as you fitted on casual short-heeled slippers. “So this could have been avoided, right? If we actually went through proper channels and were denied, then this would have never happened. We’re stuck with some drama-queen auto-freak.”

“I'm still here,” Sunstreaker called from the bathroom.

Alan rolled his eyes, saying just loud enough for him to hear, “I wish you weren’t – what the hell are you doing in there?”

“If we were denied, then we wouldn’t have got the opportunity to bring Henri back.” You didn’t care your new guest started snooping through your government-issued apartment. Your mind was understandably preoccupied.

“You assume your procedure would’ve worked,” The tattooed man challenged.

“It _would_ have!” You shot up from your seat. “It was all going perfectly. It was going to work. You can't tell me it wouldn’t-”

He held up his hands to stop you, “Ok, ok let’s say it did. Henri’s up and dancing around. Project Arkeville: success. Then what? We are still doing something illegal. You think this is something Ivan and Mark would keep to themselves?”

_Mark. Markus._ Your father’s name sent you slumping back down on the couch, “I don’t...Why didn’t dad tell me?”

Alan didn’t know what to say. He only knelt down before you, his hand patting your knee, “I’m sorry...”

“It’s...it’s impossible. I’m on the payroll. I have a team. I was _hired_. You were brought on because of _me_. What does the committee think we _do_? Alan, this secret...we could go to prison!”

“Yeah,” He muttered, “We could.”

“They could take Sunstreaker.” You buried your face in your hands, “God. I could lose Henri forever. Even if I bring him back, they could take him away, and they could lock me up. I would never see him again.”

Alan gave a squeeze, “But we’re not going to let that happen. We’ll figure shit out, yeah?”

You chewed and swallowed a whimper. You’ve cried enough these past few days, and your face _ached_. You hated it, you hated seeming weak and so stereotypically _female_. Alan may have been one of the few friends you had left, sticking by you through all the worst in your life, but you still hated crying in front of him. You buried your face in your hands.

“Huh. Is your hair turning gray?”

You let out a long whine.

*

Back in the bathroom, Sunstreaker was looking at himself in the mirror. It was strange, to know who he was, what he was supposed to look like, but stare at the face of a stranger. As he had many times before, he touched, pulled and squished his face. To think, if the human scientists did their jobs properly, he wouldn’t be trapped in this body.

The recent moments in this apartment were tense. You shared with them the criminal acts that were committed, and for over an hour there was arguing and yelling. That walking tattooed hazard spouted threats and curses when Sunstreaker shared his bitter thoughts on the matter. It made you upset, but what about him? You weren’t the one suffering from someone else’s negligent and dim-witted decision.

He heard soft words from down the hall and turned away from the mirror, listening. He couldn’t make much out of it, but his eyes wandered to the pictures on the wall. One was a smaller fleshling between two others – was one a femme? All organics looked the same. There were other framed photos of wrinkly humans and tiny humans. Squishies he didn’t know. It made his head itch.

He found himself wandering down the hall, looking at all these pictures. He entered a room with a frumpy berth and a few storage units. He cringed at your fabric coverings – _clothes_ – strewn about, and gagged at old cups of water on the nightstands and dressers, “Disgusting. Is this how she keeps her recharging quarters? Humans are so fragging gross.”

Across the room was an open closet door. Hanging on the inside was a board with more photos. He stepped closer and looked them over with a magnetized curiosity. There was an array of different pictures. Some were of smaller fleshlings, then larger, gangly ones, and then of even more mature organics. One, he noticed, was a group photo. It had what looked like a younger form of that painted scrap-heap looping his arm around the neck of the body he inhabited. They stood beside a slender frame wearing your familiar face while a blonde femme wrapped thin arms around in a giggling embrace. Everyone was smiling.

“Ahh,” Sunstreaker breathed. These were pictures of you as a sparkling growing up with your comrades. You must have known the blond man he was trapped within for a long time – long for your _species_ , that is. While his eyes continued to flit over the images of the man called Henri Arkeville, they fell on one: You and Henri in an embrace. You were gazing at him, while he looked up at the camera. Sunstreaker felt something in his chassis – _chest, whatever_ – tighten.

You _loved_ the man. It wasn’t just your job to move Sunstreaker out of this body, but your duty as this man’s conjunx endura. Bondmate. Whatever humans call their significant other. When you said this body was precious, he figured you were just comrades, friends, allies – he didn’t know! Organic cultures were _weird_. He pulled the picture from the board as it was finally coming to him. He may have been trapped in a foreign body, but you were just as desperate to get him out, to get back with your bonded.

A sound pulled him from his thoughts. It was you, and you were crying. It was all coming together now, why you were the way you were. He didn’t know much about humans, except they were just as annoying as fleshlings usually were, but maybe this is why you were insufferable. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand the deep bond between sparkmates, he’s met a few here and there, but he personally never had a relationship that went that deep. Maybe you _were_ suffering. Maybe you weren't as you seemed and there was so much more to you – more to _humans_ , not just you.

Sunstreaker didn’t know what came over him. He wanted to do _something_ to make you stop leaking. There was nothing he could say to alleviate your ache, but maybe if he, _I dunno_ , told Sideswipe to shoot something, it might make you feel better? He slipped the picture in his aft-compartment – _pocket, whatever_ – and rushed to the door. Your clothes twisted around his shoes and yanked them together, nearly bringing him to the floor. Thankfully, he caught himself on your dresser but nearly swept off all those dirty, stale cups. He gagged again, averting his eyes to your open drawer filled with undergarments. He felt his face warm bashfully and looked away.

Sunstreaker blinked, returning his bewildered gaze to your panties, “Why am I...embarrassed? What are these?”

He felt a rising anxiety, like the feeling of Wheeljack asking questions about the memo the gunner definitely _didn’t_ read. He reached in, pinching the soft cotton between his fingers. Something _moved_ in his head. Something sharp, hot and abrupt jerked free and dispersed. He leaned against the dresser, pressing his palm to his temple until it resided.

“Hey.”

He looked up at the tattooed man, “Are you panty-raiding?”

Sunstreaker’s brows scrunched, “Am I _what_?”

“Hey, guys,” You called out, “It’s getting late, let’s get going before things close up for the night.”

* * *

“This is a bar!”

“It has food,” Alan defended.

“It’s a _bar_! Nothing good will come out of this.” You rubbed your face as he parked, whining out the rest of your protests.

“A...bar? An oil-house?” Sunstreaker asked, but you and your friend were too busy bickering in hushed voices.

It was a quaint little place with televisions playing sports, and only a few patrons took up the barstools. You claimed the tables furthest from everyone else and Alan immediately went to the bartender.

“Don’t touch anything,” You fretted, “Don’t eat or drink anything I don’t give you.”

“Can't we just leave?” Sunstreaker groaned.

“No. No, we are going to relax.” You looked anything but. You stood quickly and gave your tattooed friend a judging glare as he returned with a bottle. You turned to the blond again, “And for the love of God, do not leave that chair.”

With that, you left for the bar. Sunstreaker groaned again.

“Here,” Alan held out his bottle, “This will relax you.”

He took it without hesitation, ignoring your warning and sipped. It tasted like rusted slag from the floor of an insecticon den. He gagged and dropped the bottle, only for tattooed tech to catch it with smooth expertise, “Yeah, it’s an acquired taste.”

“Fraggin’-”

“Ooo using big-bot words.”

“I swear when I get my body back, I'm going to throw you as high as I can and hold a bet on what noise you’ll make hitting the ground,” He kept his voice low between clenched teeth. He glared at the man, nearly nose to nose. “Do you think I _want_ to be here? What is your malfunction?”

“You ruined it.”

Sunstreaker pulled away, blinking as he tried to process what he just heard.

“I was supposed to deck Henri in the face when he came back, but you fuckin’ ruined it.” He set his beer down, staring at it while chewing his lip.

“I...thought you were all comrades.”

Alan let out a sharp laugh, “Yeah, until the accident.” He turned those hardened green eyes on the once mechanical being, “So much shit, man. So much fuckin’ bullshit. I lost friends that day, nearly lost them all because of that asshole. Hell, even Eve had a few walk out on her. Her best friend – poof. _Bitch_.”

Sunstreaker thought of that picture he had in his pocket. The blonde femme that held on to you, face split with a dazzling grin. You were, too, and he wondered if you still smiled like that.

“It all went to shit after his accident, and he needs to know that. He needs to know what he put her through.” He took a sip, “They are great together, but he went and fucked it up by getting in that damn car. I was there when he proposed, y’know, and he would _not_ shut up about marriage and kids. All that white picket fence shit.”

Sunstreaker looked down at himself. Kids? Sparklings? That meant one thing. “This body had... _relations_ with her?”

“Don’t go letting that toaster-brain wander, perv,” He warned, “Even though they wanted different things, she still loves Henri, and I’ll make sure he knows that when she wakes his ass up. Everything she’s done, she did it for him. He needs to know that before I beat the shit outta him.”

The blond glanced over at Alan before fixating on you from across the establishment. “And she’ll let you? You make her sound devoted to this man.”

“She’ll hate me for a bit, but I owe her this. She didn’t abandon me, even though she thinks I’m to blame.”

Now he was rightly confused, “You’re not making any sense, fleshy.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter.” Alan leaned in, his finger jabbing the table to make his point, “There is only one thing that should, Jerk-bot. She will never give up. It’s not that you’re in her fiancé’s body, but because she's a fucking good person, that she will help you because _you_ need it, no matter if you deserve it or not. She's a determined little bitch and will burn herself out before thinking of giving up on you. Respect that.”

This was new. This man, this perfect example of what humanity represented – at least to Sunstreaker – leveled with him. Spoke to him on even ground with a conviction he’d never witnessed from this species before.

Wait, that wasn’t quite right. There was _you_. You did stand up to Prowl for _him_.

He returned to watching you at the bar. You waited patiently, looking out of place with your pencil skirt and pretty blouse, as plates were set out before you. You had to bite down on your frown as you tried to figure out a way to balance it all.

“What you're saying, it makes me think you admire her. Is that why you want to hit your comrade? Jealousy?”

Alan took a swig, “Nah, man.”

He looked over at the tattooed tech, “Then why?”

“His car accident, she tried to stop him, y’know? The weather was shit.” He set down his bottle. A fire started to burn in the eyes that glared ahead at nothing, “He told Eve I was at a bar, drunk off my ass and needed a ride.”

Sunstreaker’s brows rose, “So _you_ are to blame for his condition.”

Alan’s lip twitched, “No. Not _me_.” He brought the bottle up and took a long, hard gulp.

“Ooookay,” You approached, balancing two plates and glasses, setting them down, “Water, chicken wings, and mozzarella sticks.”

“Get yourself a drink, hardass,” your friend grounded out.

“I'm fine. You go on ahead,” You waved dismissively, sitting beside Sunstreaker and sliding plates before him, “Here, try it.”

He abandoned his recent conversation with that paint-job. There was some intrigue behind it all, but he could chalk it up to being bored, or searching for some kind of distraction. You had the right idea to keep him from the drama. All he should focus on was getting out, going home, and signing up for a post _far_ away from any organic life. He broke open one of those breaded sticks and white cheese oozed out. “This is rubber.”

“It’s food,” you countered.

“Hmm no. It’s rubber. You're trying to kill me.”

“ _Why_ would I try to kill you? That’s counter-productive. Can't you, _for once_ , just be grateful?”

He shot you a wary glance.

You huffed, “Fine. Starve. You’re the one who wanted to go out.”

“Like the great Doctor Eve didn’t need to get out as well.” He poked at the dead animal limbs. What did you call them? _Chicken wings?_ Disgusting. He hated this place.

You rolled your eyes, and then nearly choked on your water, “Wait. What did you call me?”

Sunstreaker glanced at you again, pulling apart the avian carcasses, “Your designation. Don’t confuse things by having me call you something else.”

You blinked, looking away and dabbing at the spill on your shirt. Not only did Sunstreaker _actually_ refer you by name, but a name that only two people have ever used. One was on his third beer, watching the game and stuffing nachos in his face. The other was...you weren’t sure where Henri was, right now. He wasn’t beside you, but he wasn’t brain-dead either.

You busied yourself with sipping your water properly this time, fighting the well of emotions that tried to brim over. When you got a handle on yourself, you said, “Just call me Eva. Eva is fine, ok?”

“Whatever.”

The night progressed, and Sunstreaker finally tried the food that was put before him, even though it was all cold by then. Alan continued to drink, get louder, and started cheering for the games that he admitted he had no idea what was going on. You just sat quietly, your appetite gone, and the ice had long since melted in your water.

By the time Alan put his head down, muttering to himself the definition of circuit theory, Sunstreaker finally decided to comment on the night, “This was stupid.”

“This wasn’t what I wanted,” You sighed.

He sat back from his empty dishes, unconvinced as he crossed his arms, “It wasn’t?”

“No. I wanted to go to a nice restaurant, maybe a buffet where you can try different foods,” You said, a downcast softness to your tone, “Sometimes, people feel comfort from certain things. You feel comfort being with your brother, but I wanted to see if you could find comfort in food, in atmosphere, in whatever I can provide in a moment’s notice when your brother’s not available.”

Sunstreaker watched as you fussed with your glass of water, turning it in circles over the coaster. “Earlier today, you said you’re sick of seeing me. I get it. I’m one of your stressors, but how can I change that? I’m supposed to help you, not fill you with anxiety every time you see me.”

The look on your face made him frown. He didn’t like this feeling that was growing in his spark chamber. Or his chest. _Whatever_. It was some negative feeling to the way your brows creased, how your lips curved downward, and how that glistening in your eyes told him you were going to leak from your optics. Simply put, you were sad, and he didn’t like it one bit, didn’t like how it made him _feel_. What could he say? What would _Optimus_ say? He always had something awe-inspiring to dole out; maybe Sunstreaker could recite how it was the right of all sentient beings-

No, no that wouldn’t be the right thing. You weren't being oppressed by tyrannical forces. Maybe a drive would fix that look on your face. That should do it. Sideswipe would definitely take you both for a night-ride. Anything to stop you from making that _stupid_ sad face. Boldly, and without much thought, he reached to take your arm in his grip.

His fingers barely grazed your skin when something sharp and hot stabbed his head. He gasped and winced, fingers immediately clawing at his helm – _head_ , whatever.

“What is it?” You were quick to react, already having his wrist in hand, counting his pulse.

“My...head hurts.” His palms pressed his forehead, eyes clenched firmly shut.

“Headache?” You leaned in to lower your voice, “Is it bad?”

“It _hurts_. Isn’t anything that hurts a _bad_ thing?” He snapped, his breaths coming faster.

His pulse was speeding up. You hurriedly paid the bill, collected your drunken friend, and corralled Sunstreaker back to the car, uncaring of the spectacle it may have appeared to be. You dumped Alan in the back seat and checked on your patient again, “Any change?”

“It feels weird.”

“Explain.” You stood at the passenger side of the car, feeling his clammy forehead.

“I can't,” he groaned, “It’s weird, like...I can’t think of the words.”

“Let’s get you back to the facility.” You started to close the door, but then he stopped you.

“No, I don’t want to go back there.”

“There could be something wrong with you.”

“There is!” He argued, “But I don’t want to go back there.”

You kept your firm stance, “I don’t care what you say, you are.”

“No,” He growled, his creased eyes trying their best to glare at you. “You can't make me.”

Your lip twitched, “Stop me.”

He couldn’t. There was just no way, not while he was like this. You closed the door and hurried to the driver’s side, swinging in hard enough to rock the vehicle. You pulled out with squealing tires, taking a hard right that rocked Sunstreaker.

“I’m in pain! I’m not going offline, you crazy meatbag!”

You gritted your teeth, “Like I’m going to go the speed-limit either way.”

He groaned out a sigh before asking, “What's a _speed-limit_?”

You glanced his way and noticed a hint of a smile. Your eyes flicked between him and the road, “Are you...joking with me right now?”

“I need something to think about other than this...feeling in my brain-module,” He huffed, and there was some form of laughter in there _somewhere_.

You sped down the highway, praying no cops would stop you. Sunstreaker fell quiet, except for the odd whimper every now and again. You took his wrist in your grip, feeling his pulse. It was slightly higher, but staying steady. Your hand explored the back of his clammy neck, and it was tight with strain; every part of him was tensing and releasing, riding out this migraine. Your exploration ended at his forehead, your hand partially covering his. He felt warm. Not too feverish, but warm.

You tried to stay calm. Did he contract a virus? Food poisoning? Was he having an aneurysm or just a simple headache?

You went to pull your hand away, but his fingers laced around yours, pressing it more against his head as he curled over, hiding his face. He was trembling. He was afraid.

You swallowed your fear, shoving aside the more emotional part of you to take on that professional air, “Can you describe your pain?”

“Dulled. It’s more uncomfortable now,” he mumbled loud enough for you to hear, “Unpleasant. I don’t like it.”

“Just hold on a bit longer. We’ll be there soon.”

“And I don’t know what's at your human medical facility that could help me.”

He was partially right. You could sedate him to help him overcome the pain, but without your neuro-equipment you were working blindly, “We could at least monitor your vitals.”

“Will it tell you what's wrong with me?”

You felt his grip on you loosen, and you were able to pull your hand away. “I’ll know the rest of your body’s status, but your brain? I’ll only know what you tell me.”

Sunstreaker started shifting in his seat, rubbing his eyes, “I’m seeing things.”

“Hallucinating?” You jerked the wheel as your head snapped in his direction. You started pressing the brakes, considering pulling over.

“No, in my processor, but the data is different. It’s...warm. Blurry. Wriggling and slippery. Random. I can't access them like normal,” He whimpered again, pressing himself back in the seat and rapidly blinking, “It feels mushy like oiled slag slurry.”

“I don’t know what that means,” You eased the brakes more, eyes flitting between him and the road, “I don’t know what any of that means. Please, help me understand, _please_. What do you mean, data?”

Sunstreaker shifted forward, reaching back behind himself. He pulled out a scrap of paper and held it out to you. You slammed on the brakes to a screeching halt just before the exit to your off-ramp, realizing that scrap of paper was a _photo_ of you and Henri.

You snatched the picture and held it tightly with both hands, vision blinking between Henri’s glossy 2D face, to the alien who wore it wrong. You eked out a cracked whisper, “Data...?”

“Data – _memories_ – that are not mine.” He rubbed the crease to his brow, “But of the one you call Henri Arkeville.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alan wakes up in the backseat, alone, in the dark parking-lot of the facility. He sits up, looking around groggily before meeting eyes with two bright blue optics just outside the window. 
> 
> "Hey, How was," Sideswipe began, then paused, "Stop Screaming. How was your night?"


	11. Not like them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say conflict gives you character, makes you experienced. How experienced are you, now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I do a thing?  
> I may have.

Alan forged through the facility with his iconic stomping murder-walk.

Any staff that noticed the tattooed man, still wearing the clothes from yesterday, wisely cleared a path, but for those who didn’t? You’ve seen movies where people are shoved aside in dramatic fashion, and papers go flying about comically. It wasn’t necessary, but it made the tech feel a little better. It did nothing to soothe that pulsing vein in his temple and that involuntary twitch to his upper lip, baring his teeth like an animal.

Words to describe how Alan felt was difficult. _Pissed_ would be appropriate, but he was worried. Not scared, but concerned. Just anger and anxiety, then more anger to drown that out. His stomach rolled up into a little ball as he threw open the door to Sunstreaker’s room, and whipped it closed behind him, trying to achieve that unnecessary _BANG_ to make the alien flinch and set the tone that _Alan was the Alpha here._

The man locked eyes with Sunstreaker as the door shut with a _gentle hiss_ and _click_. Well, _fuck_. Backup plan: square shoulders, lean in just slight enough to give off an aggressive vibe, and let his voice set the mood. “I swear to _God_ if you’re lying, I will cut off _everything_ Henri can live without!”

His posture came off threatening enough because Sunstreaker was already on his feet, stance primed to take whatever came his way. “Why are you yelling? I’m right here!”

“Because I had the _worst_ morning!” Alan waved his arms, pointing to the invisible topics floating around him. “First, I woke in the back of my car with Can’t-hold-still-Bot watching me like some goddamn freak, asking me how my night was -”

“Watch yourself, that idiot is my brother.”

“Then I stumble in here, pass back out in Eve’s lab, and I wake to one of her minions telling me you’re _remembering_ Henri’s memories?” Alan stepped a little closer, aiming an angled finger-gun in his direction, “How is that possible? There’s no fuckin’ way. You’re wrong, or you’re lying.”

Sunstreaker hissed between his teeth before grumbling, “I wish I was, fleshbag, trust me.”

Now the tattooed tech closed the distance, and the blond wavered back slightly as demands were thrown in his face, “What the hell are you seeing? Tell me what happened that night. Tell me everything you told Eve.”

He leaned back in to meet the human face to face, unafraid, “I told her one thing: _I want out_.”

Alan ground his teeth, torn. It felt like everything he needed to know was right _here_ , just within reach, but he wasn’t completely heartless. He wasn’t blind to the struggles of this alien, not that he really _cared_ or anything, it’s just that Sunstreaker’s problems made your life more challenging. Only Alan was allowed to stress you out, none of these assholes had the right. He stepped back to give him a bit more space, “She’ll get you out, don’t doubt that, but this shit you're seeing? You have to tell me –“

“I don’t have to tell you slag!” Exasperated, Sunstreaker threw his hands in the air, “I don’t give a _frag_ about your human conniptions! I want out! I don’t like feeling like this, I don’t like the data I'm seeing – data that’s not _mine_!” A moment of quiet fell over the two as his hands dropped to his chest, gripping his shirt like he wanted to rip it off and tear at his organic skin next. His bright blue eyes broke away from Alan’s to look down at himself with a bitter curl to his lip, “I just want to go home.”

Alan’s nose scrunched before sucking in a noisy breath. It would be much easier to feel bad for the guy if he wasn’t such an asshole towards everyone – you included. _But_. He was focused on one thing: _clearing his name_. “Listen, I know, man. But I really need you to think about that night three years ago. You don’t understand, I don’t remember calling him, _I’m sure I didn’t_ , but you can figure that shit out _right now_ –"

“No.”

“No?” It sounded foreign at first. Alan growled out a menacing echo as it finally processed, “ _No_?”

“No.” Sunstreaker returned that harsh gaze back up at the man, narrowing to a scowl. A thought blipped by, betraying his intentions with a vengeful smirk, “You threaten me again, I’ll tell that squishy doctor whatever I feel like, despite whatever this primitive brain is showing me.” 

He blinked rapid-fire. It was hard to believe the _balls_ this alien had. Alan bared his teeth and snatched up the offender's shirt in a tight fist, “You think you’re being cute, but I’m _not_ playing –“

Cue your timely entrance. The door opened and you stepped in with a weary squeak to your sneakers. You took in the scene, meeting both green and alien-blue eyes before roaring, “Alan! What the _hell_ are you doing?”

Busted. He thought fast and whirled around to immediately challenge you. Maybe if he got you on the defensive, you’d be aptly redirected and forget about it all. “You didn’t think to tell me something as important as this? Why didn’t you wake me?”

It wasn’t going to work. Usually, you would balk, stutter, or maybe frantically defend yourself, because, after years of knowing you, Alan knew how to turn an _angry you_ into a _confused you_. Not today. You tossed the clipboard on the counter and lazily fixed your hands on your hips, “Because you were not my priority at the time. I’ve been working all night and I’m _tired_. Are you sure you want to get on my case about being your alarm clock?”

Alan scoffed, crossing his arms and looking off in his own petulant way, “Whatever.”

“Now that you’re up, I need your help.”

“If I feel like it.”

“We’re out of time. I made all the calls I could without saying anything incriminating. I need you and your team to see what we can salvage from my old lab and see what you can fix up.” You held out an index card containing a list of what you once had.

Alan looked it over, his face twisting, “We’ve already looked this shit over. Motherboards were fried, fuses blown, wires melted together, and housing with holes blasted in ‘em.”

“Try,” You insisted, “splice together what you can. Use whatever contacts you have to get parts. We need to start casting a wider net to fix this.”

“Doesn’t Ivan know any thin-mustached, monocle-wearing, mad scientist fucks? Why isn’t he calling _those_ kinds of buddies?”

“We can't rely on Doctor Arkeville anymore. We’re on our own,” you said, losing that previous severity to your tone. It faded to something exhausted and desperate. 

After a few beats, he nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.” Another beat passed before he let himself out, barely looking up from your list. You had every confidence that he would try his best, and then some, but even you knew you were asking for something impossible. Most of your equipment was blown to pieces.

Now, it was just you, and a very quiet Sunstreaker. He sat down as you approached, fitting on your stethoscope, “What was that all about?”

He didn’t say a word, only turned his head to avoid your question. You hesitated to continue your routine examination, a little alarmed from how withdrawn your patient was behaving. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“Don’t,” He muttered, “He’s just angry. Stupid and angry.”

That surprised you, and you were getting so very sick and tired of being surprised. You stole a moment and realigned yourself before pressing the diaphragm of your tool to his back, listening to his breathing. You moved to his chest, focusing on the sound of his airways. You counted his heartbeats, thought of how much longer it would take for the blood tests to finish, thought of testing for synaptic delays, thoughts of anything else other than _he could see a few blurry memories of your fiancé._

You pulled off the stethoscope, studying his face. More and more, you found yourself able to take it in for longer periods of time, so long as Sunstreaker kept that scowl and those electric blue eyes that still refused to look at you. You remained genial, “Are you still having headaches?”

“Not so much,” He rubbed his head, “Just feels like my alignment needs re-calibrated.”

You ventured, “I think you mean you’re dizzy.”

“Why is this happening?” He groaned into his hands, rubbing his eyes till he saw spots, “Why me?”

You couldn’t answer that, but that didn’t mean you never asked those same questions time and time again. Sometimes, you were afraid that someone would hear you, and give the answer you’ve always dreaded. _Because of you. It was all your fault. You did this._

Sunstreaker, such as he was, didn’t deserve this. It was all an unfortunate chain of circumstance, and he was only a passerby. As you understood it, he didn’t even _want_ to be here, and you couldn’t blame him. The world was cruel and unfair. What was happening to him was _cruel and unfair._

Those other times where you would ask ‘ _Why me?_ ’, you wished someone would have just told you, _‘The world is cruel and unfair.’_

You don’t know what came over you. You knelt before your patient and took his wrists with a firm, yet gentle hold, and pulled them down slowly. His eyes flickered between yours and to your hands as they slid down to hold his. The thought of how you wanted someone to hold your hand through the difficult parts of your recent life prompted you to squeeze a little harder. You said what you wished others would have said when you were at your weakest, “It will be okay. I will take care of you, and I will fix this. Trust me.”

So much was overwhelming Sunstreaker’s sensors – _senses_ – right now, and he fought between shoving you across the room and lacing his fingers in yours. Your fleshy hands were soft and warm, and there was _something_ behind this gesture that both turned his stomach and made that muscle in this chest _pound_. He finally met your eyes, and you held his gaze with that intensity he wasn’t used to from you. _Trust me_. He felt like he could.

He was a hardened warrior trapped in a weak fleshling that was some inane ritual away from being your conjunx. He ripped his hands and gaze away from yours, hissing, “Stop touching me.”

You recoiled from the sudden transition, a gasp hitched in your throat. Sunstreaker set his jaw, fighting to keep his eyes averted. This gradual fondness, it was the boy’s emotions for you clouding his reasoning. He huffed, stealing a glimpse your way. “Work fast.”

Your concern for crossing a line mutated to a narrowed glare of irritation. You put yourself out there, only to be treated like a plague carrier from the thirteen-hundreds, then to be given orders so abruptly. _What an asshole_ , you said to yourself, probably for the seventh time today. Let’s not lie to ourselves, it was probably the seventeenth, but keeping count only made you feel tired.

The door clicked open, and you looked over your shoulder to take in the face of your trusty assistant. You stood coolly from your kneeling position, searching those eyes for any strand of judgment, but you wouldn’t. Holly had an incredibly good poker face.

“Doctor,” She said in that leveled tone, immediately thickening the air you were trying to swallow down. “I’ve received word, Doctor Arkeville has finally arrived, _with_ a collection of the suit-wearing type. They are across the way in Lot A.”

_Agents?_ You wanted to ask, but the word stuck in your throat like molasses. You glanced back at Sunstreaker, unsure what exactly to say. _Act normal. Don’t touch anything._ You turned back to your waiting assistant, and she pushed open the door more, waving you out. “We need to know what's going to happen to us.”

They didn’t know. Your team had no idea that your objective was never cleared with the committee – therefore never cleared with your _government_ – and you committed crimes that could cost them _everything_. You never told them, how _would_ you? Everything was happening so fast, and...

You were worried they would _run_.

They could turn you in. They could force you to break your promise to Sunstreaker. They could be party to losing Henri forever. Your team of specialists could _betray_ you.

_You had to talk to Ivan Arkeville._ That got you moving. You ran through the halls as you usually would – dodging others when calling out _excuse me_ as politely as you could, but firm enough to make them move. They used to not. There was a point in time, earlier in your career here, where some of the stouter staff from different teams would find it funny to block your way. It was only when Alan taught you to bend at the knees to put more _umpf_ behind that shoulder-check that gave you the reputation as _unruly_. Your father scolded you for that, but no one ever got in your way again.

_Your dad_. Doctor Arkeville had a lot to answer for.

You made it out of one of the side doors, already getting a face full of the morning’s cold drizzle. _Great_. You had to run in this all the way to the other side of the property. You’ll do it. You’ll look like a drowned rat, wheezing and cherry-cheeked. You’ll have to wear a flu-mask after, because there was no way you weren't come out of this without the sniffles.

Except a frighteningly familiar police cruiser rolled up, driver door opening, “Doctor Morgan, a word.”

The trepidation you would usually experience dissolved away to desperation. You hurried across the way as he continued, “Why did I have to hear from _Sideswipe_ that Sunstreaker is experiencing - _ooof!_ ”

You swung in the seat with the least amount of grace as possible, practically dumping yourself down heavily and swinging the door closed on your own. You cut him off as he was spitting your name as he would a curse, “Take me across the facility.”

He roared around you, “I am not your escort! You will tell me why a report wasn’t sent to me about Sunstreaker –"

“Prowl, please! Doctor Arkeville is here,” You pleaded, and was rewarded with a resigned grunt and a squeal to his tires. You neglected to buckle in as you pressed yourself against the window, anticipating the worst. _The suit-wearing type._

“I expect a full report on what is occurring with my soldier by the end of this solar cycle, Doctor Morgan. You’ll not receive another chance,” The Autobot Commander warned.

You weren't about to guess _what_ that could possibly entail. Instead, you started to gather your frantic self, and organize it on a shelf. You calmly, and professionally responded, “I can't afford to start leaving evidence, anymore. My messages to you could be discovered.”

Prowl didn’t comment as he rounded the smaller Facility A. You drew in a sharp breath, “Oh no...”

There were several vehicles of different types, all a shining, polished black with dark tinted windows. The people getting out of these vehicles with their black umbrellas and black-suited uniforms sent your heart and lungs scurrying about in that small space of a ribcage.

“Your _agents_ , I presume,” He grumbled like this was only a mere annoyance, “Judging by your immediate distress which is _flooding my sensors_ – do you mind? Keep your internals quiet, I’m trying to think.”

“I have to talk to Doctor Arkeville,” You repeated numbly, “How can I? There are so many agents.”

“Get out. I’ll grab him.”

You jolted at the idea of the giant alien picking up the old scientist in front of a hundred government investigators. _That_ wouldn’t raise suspicion. “No! No, I’ll, uh, get him. You might...scare everyone.”

“And?”

“You might come off as hostile, and I bet they have guns.”

“...And?”

“You’re supposed to be facilitating good relations with the locals, Prowl!”

He grumbled, “Fine. Then you bring him to me. You’ll require a private way to converse with Ivan, and I demand to be a party to it.”

_If_ you can get him away from everyone. You exited the Autobot and walked up to the rows and rows of black vehicles. You turned a few heads as everyone else held up their umbrellas, protecting their neat, crisp, matching suits. You looked miserable without a coat and your wet hair in tendrils, plastering to the side of your face. You spotted the only man out of place, wearing a beige tweed suit with an argyle shirt underneath – all around garish attire. The Doctor held an umbrella for a younger man as he fished for a briefcase within his ominously black van.

Doctor Arkeville immediately noticed your approach and went pale, “Doctor Morgan.”

You nearly tripped on yourself. The air became much colder with an alarming amount of dread. The man _never_ referred to you formally. That title was only for your father, no matter how hard you worked. As he spoke, the young man turned to take note. Surprise covered his freshly shaven face.

“Let me introduce the agent leading this investigation, Agent and Investigator Seymour Simmons.”

You were screaming on the inside. Unintelligible curses that may have been Cybertronian. You wouldn’t be surprised, you were around them often enough. All these suits were here to investigate the incident that _you_ had to fix, and you didn’t. _You couldn’t_. His dark eyes flickered past you at the patrol vehicle, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at the patiently – at least, quietly – waiting Prowl. 

You thought of that rude and frigid Autobot, and it made it easier to calm yourself. You embraced the chilling rain on your skin, focusing on the numbness on your fingers. You had to play things right. You had to stay collected and _smart_. The Scientist in you sorted through her files, pulling out the notes on the information Prowl gave you just yesterday.

Graciously, you held your hand out to Agent Simmons. “Lead Biomedical Researcher and Scientist, Doctor Evalyn Morgan. A pleasure, Agent.”

His attention returned to you, and he flashed a slight smile, “Thank you. Is that a...N.B.E. or are you in trouble?”

You caught a boyish taunt to his tone, and you felt a little offended. They sent a _kid_ to investigate something as serious as this. He must have been a fresh graduate from the academy! You quickly checked yourself. This could be an advantage, or he could be relentless to make a name for himself. _Shit._

“That is Prowl, the current Autobot in Command of this sector,” You said gently, hoping he wasn’t about to ask for an introduction. You rubbed your hands together, breathing on them. “He was passing by, and was kind enough to offer a ride.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Agent Simmons took his umbrella from the old scientist and thrust it your way, “Here, you’re getting drenched. Don’t worry ‘bout me, I have a spare.”

He was being kind. Maybe you were wrong, and he was a master manipulator with that youthful appearance. You took it, mouth opening and closing, stammering before managing a, “Thank you.”

Agent Simmons gave another faint smile before turning to his van and rummaged around. You gave Doctor Arkeville a pleading crease to your brows. You didn’t know how to read the situation, and you looked to him for guidance. He only offered you a scowl in return. As the Agent turned back, you averted your gaze downward, brushing wet hair from your face, “Excuse me, I was hoping to discuss some things with Doctor Arkeville.”

“Please, go ahead. Pretend I’m not here.” Agent Simmons opened his newly found umbrella.

_Pretend the Tiger is not there, and eying you like the prey you are_. Was he serious? Was he playing with you? You choked out a few noises, unsure what to say. You couldn’t say anything, really. You needed this conversation to be private, but without saying those exact words and setting off red-flagged sirens, you struggled. You didn’t plan for this, you didn’t plan to lie and face whatever the hell _this_ was. You couldn’t hide your nervous glancing between the two men.

“Is it about your father?” Doctor Arkeville asked.

“Yes.” You immediately seized the chance, “he is...he’s not...”

You didn’t have to pretend. You hung your head to shield your face from the Agent. You couldn’t fake grief but didn’t have to fake the rush of anger that rippled your body. Your father was still in a coma. Your father that may have lied to you all this time.

“Agent, please, can't we find privacy? This is a personal matter, and I think of Markus Morgan’s daughter as my own,” The old scientist pleaded, uncharacteristically leaning in to put a comforting arm around your smaller frame, speaking softly but loud enough for his audience to hear, “There, there now, Junior. I’m sorry I was away while you were dealing with so much. Let us find someplace warm and get you a nice cup of tea you like so much.”

_You haven’t had tea in years._ He lied to you – been lying to you! You trusted him, never thought for a single moment he would have you work on illegal experimentation right under everyone’s noses. As crotchety as he was, you _respected_ him, and he _used that against you_. Was your dad in on it? Or did Ivan lie to him, too? While you were quietly going along with this good fatherly act, Agent Simmons ate it up. “Yes, I understand. It didn’t occur to me that it was her family on the injury list. I’ll take the time to organize my team and settle in.” He stepped away for his waiting coworkers, and you both took a long breath together.

That fury boiling under your skin made you move. You latched on to the arm that was around your shoulders, and your other hand came up to his back as you not-so-gently guided him towards the still waiting Autobot. Doctor Arkeville hesitated, and you tightened your grip, “We need to talk.”

Your tone was uncommonly firm, bordering between a hiss and a snarl. Prowl promptly opened his doors, letting you basically shove in the old scientist. He was probably thinking he should have stayed with the government agents as he witnessed you storm around the cruiser and brusquely swing yourself in the driver's side. You didn’t offer a glance back as the door shut behind you, your eyes focused on the only man that could give you answers. 

Except he wasn’t about to offer you anything other than a scolding, “Really, Junior. This is unbecoming of you, and this is a private matter. To involve an _alien_ , of all things – I thought you learned your lesson."

Said alien drove off casually, heading towards the isolation of the roads through the surrounding forest leading to the Autobot facility. His tone was a threatening rumble all around you, “And what lesson is that, Ivan? Do I need to pull over and remind you _face-to-face_ that I _am_ involved in this?”

“Prowl deserves to be here,” You backed-up the voice coming from the radio and pointed to the man, “I can't _believe_ you! I don’t...I don’t even know where to begin!”

“How _is_ your father?” Doctor Arkeville asked, folding his hands in his lap, asking as nonchalantly as you would for a drink menu.

A little noise lodged in your throat as you clamped your jaw down tightly. Unwillingly, you saw that image of your father on that hospital bed, tubes down his throat and nose, every inch of his skin covered with sensors and needles, living by the grace of machines while his organic body suffered from its fragility. It all shattered your words to pieces, and you couldn’t move an inch to pick it all up.

Prowl’s sharp and authoritative tenor rocked you back to the present. “Stay focused.”

Was it towards you, or the man who tried to throw you off? You wouldn’t know, but still silently thanked the Commander by setting your hand on the steering wheel. You took a breath, collecting the pieces, and forging a shield this time, instead of a spear of accusations. “Dad’s in a coma.”

“Once this mess is cleaned up, and if we both get out of this, I’ll present your research to the board and it will allow us to work on your father.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if that’s what you did in the first place!”

“Do not raise your voice to me, girl,” He reprimanded.

You couldn’t keep from screeching, “I think I’m _fucking_ entitled to!”

Prowl grunted, possibly wincing, “Volume, Doctor.”

Doctor Arkeville jabbed, “Unprofessional. Now you’re behaving hysterically. You sound like that punk your father likes so much-”

_Alan would have knocked out a few teeth by now._ You twisted in your seat to lean in a little closer, “I don’t care if I sound like a goddamn soldier! You have been lying to me. Did my father know about this? Has he been lying to me, too?”

He fell silent, turning away from you to look out the windshield.

You grabbed his sleeve and gave it a jerk, “Answer me!”

That incited his anger as he ripped his arm away, “What good will that do, now? That doesn’t matter anymore."

“It matters to me!”

“Listen carefully, Junior. You being in the dark was the only way we could protect you if there was any fallout with the project—"

“We?” You interjected, “ _We_? As in you _and_ my dad?”

The scientist huffed a garbled mutter, looking down at his hands before giving in with a long and contemplative sigh, “He knew you would find out. I kept telling him you wouldn’t, but he was always scared you would start asking the right questions. Either way, we both agreed to take full responsibility of the consequences, should this ever come to light.”

You were forced back in your seat by this weight within your chest. You didn’t want to believe it, but here it was. Your father had been lying to you all this time. So many feelings scaled the pyramid of your soul, vying for the top. You wanted to be furious about being deceived. You wanted to feel heartbroken for being betrayed. You wanted to feel panicked for being involved. You wanted to feel numb because you didn’t want to feel anything, anymore. You asked with a cold indifference not suited for the situation, “What were you hoping to accomplish? If we succeeded, you wouldn’t have received anything other than jail time.”

“That’s why we were keeping you and everyone else in the dark. You were following orders under false pretenses. You would be legally innocent under the conjecture that you were misled.”

“All this to bring Henri back?” You meant to speak louder, but it came out as a whisper.

“Beyond that. The board would never accept this kind of human experimentation, but the great scientists of history did many things against the law for the sake of discovery. Yes, we would be punished, but if my brain-dead son could be restored, then the people would be asking the hard questions.”

“What would it matter? It wouldn’t be like you could carry on your work from behind bars. You think other scientists would be as successful in continuing your research?”

“No.” He spoke with sudden fervor, “ _You_ would be the survivor of our project. It would have fallen to you to carry on, to work with Henri, and help him spearhead this new discovery.”

The moment of quiet wasn’t to let this sink in, but for your mouth to catch up with your brain. Did you hear him right? You were to bring your beloved back just to support him with _your_ work? _Your_ research? Any credit to you would just automatically go to your fiancé – that is, if they didn’t quarantine him for observation after being treating with alien material. You would be surprised if they even let you behind a microscope again. You trembled, digging your nails in your palms, and said between chattering teeth, “You are a fool, Ivan. You _and_ my dad. Old and blind fools who have _no_ idea how the real world works.”

“How dare you! You let my son –!"

“Ivan!” Prowl suddenly snapped, “We do not have time for this. I must know what your plans are in regards to my soldier. I won’t allow Sunstreaker to be shipped off for whatever experimentation you humans conduct.”

His involvement couldn’t have been better timed, but you wished he jumped in sooner. You turned away from Doctor Arkeville, pressing yourself back in the seat and hugged your arms. You were shivering, but not from the cold. Henri’s father was about to throw what you already blamed yourself for right back in your face. _You let my son leave the house in that snowstorm._

Doctor Arkeville cleared his throat, shaking off the effect the sharp-toned Prowl tended to leave. “I’m not about to let my hard work, and my son, be taken by some hack scientist who will steal all the credit. We must find a way to keep this from the investigation as long as possible while we reverse the process.”

His ego knew no bounds, but at least he was on the same page. You felt something warm on your face, and it made you blink a few times before it came to you. The vents were blowing warm air over your still damp skin and clothes. You stared at the dash a long while, watching the needle gradually bob between forty and fifty, and your brows eventually creased in thought. This wasn’t about you, anymore. This wasn’t about how you were ignorant of the goings-on around you, and how you were hurt by the man you called _dad_.

This was about your friends and those who needed you.

You said with renewed strength, “I can’t do a single thing without my neuro-equipment. I need my lab back.”

“And none of it can be recovered?”

“Tech-En Faireborn is good, but not a miracle worker,” You braced your hands on the wheel before turning his way, “Can’t we requisition them? Or was that all _under the table,_ too?”

“Many of them were. We can get a few things here and there, but a lot of your larger machines were acquired through...” His gaze drifted about, “uncommon means.”

“Black market?” You gasped.

“Not quite. I wouldn’t say Mr. Destro and his associates are not of the like, but –"

“Who the hell is that? Someone from a terrorist group? Never mind, don’t tell me, for the love of God,” Your tone hit a new pitch, “You just keep digging this hole deeper and deeper.”

Prowl spat, “Of _course_. You fleshings just make things worse for yourselves.”

You wanted to defend yourself, to scream _don’t lump me together with him_. No, you were a different brand of scientist. You were naively righteous and never believed anyone you knew was capable of something quite like this.

“I’m going to redirect, and demand to know what information you fed your committee,” The Autobot ordered, “Pay attention, Doctor Morgan.”

You were losing touch. You had to focus. Everything you thought you knew about those close to you started to crumble, and this was getting _very_ personal. You couldn’t let feelings cloud your judgment, but _Christ_ it was a god-damn storm swirling over you. Again, you were thankful for the Commander’s involvement, “Yes, Sir.”

Doctor Arkeville grumbled, “Yes, yes. As far as they know, everything was reported accurately, except when we omitted any energon allocated to the unrecorded Arkeville Project. It was written off as an unexplained loss. Everything else within Junior’s wing was documented, accepted and legal.”

“What do we do? As soon as that Agent questions my staff, it’s over. As soon as they want to see the Autobot base, they’ll see Sunstreaker’s body,” You said.

“According to the reports we sent, your staff is still researching the effects of that alien material on rats and cell tissues, along with monitoring the data that comes in from the medics in-house.”

You palmed your forehead. How the hell were you going to tell your staff you were back to working on lab mice? How the hell were you going to explain _anything_?

“As for the dead alien, we’ll treat the vessel as a casualty, and is awaiting whatever you robots consider protocol.”

That yanked you from your thoughts. The mechs _really_ didn’t like being called _robots_. You jumped in before Prowl could respond in kind, “I’m sure the Commander already has an idea on what to do if he is questioned about Sunstreaker – who is _not_ dead.”

“I do,” He said firmly, “And you’ll do best not to order me on how to handle _your_ disaster, Ivan. I’m not above giving your fleshling agents something else to investigate as I _disappear_ you from this fiasco entirely.”

It was strange to experience both fear and temptation. The idea was both abhorrent, yet maybe... no, no. You weren't that desperate. Or were you? _Stop it._

“I’ve already discussed this with Doctor Morgan. She is under my employ and has my interests in mind. She cannot fix your mess and bring back my soldier while incarcerated. Your job, Ivan, is to keep these pests at bay. I don’t want to deal with the repercussions of your government seizing one of my own.”

There was no such discussion. You were never drafted by this alien race – but were you about to argue? Not really, not when your jaw practically dropped in your lap.

Prowl added, and you could _hear_ the smirk to his very intimidating chuckle, “Well, I’m sure _you_ don’t want to deal with the repercussions of _me_ keeping my soldier from human hands.”

Yeah, no. You didn’t want to deal with either. Before the old man beside you could utter anything, you blurted, “Thank you, Sir. I’ll do everything that I can.”

“I know you will.”

“Feh,” Doctor Arkeville grunted, shaking his head, “Fine. I’ll work on those agents – bunch of children, really. We should get back, though, we’ve been away for far too long.” When you nodded in agreement, he turned to you, “You must find a way to keep this from your team. One wrong word from them, that’s all it takes. You need to find a way to purge your files, stay out of sight, and work fast.”

How? How were you supposed to do all of that without your staff knowing? Even with Alan’s help, there was just no way. Maybe you could dismiss them all, give them month-long vacations, ship them to a facility on some distant island – because _that_ wouldn’t be suspicious at all. You quietly stared ahead, working your jaw and cranking those gears in your mind. The fear of failure made everything cold and move a bit slower.

The ride back was silent, and Prowl dropped the old Scientist at the damaged facility. You caught in your peripheral that he turned your way, looking like he wanted to say something. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want any more distractions. You had to figure out how you were going to _lie_ to your team.

Prowl shut his own door and sped off to the building containing your lab. You didn’t expect him to speak up.

“How will you deceive your team?”

You were honest, “I don’t know.”

“You wouldn’t,” He stated with that cold inflection he always seemed to have, “You’re not like them, the fleshlings that have misled you.”

You weren’t. You trusted your father. He didn’t trust you, he _lied_ to you. You couldn’t fathom doing that to someone you loved. You didn’t know how to respond to that, and you pulled the handle to the door once Prowl stopped beside the entrance to the building.

It remained locked. You searched around, a little worried on _why_ you suddenly felt like a hostage. Was he about to lecture you on how to manipulate your team? Or maybe how to _dispose_ of them. The longer he said nothing, the more times you attempted the door handle.

“Stop that.”

You withdrew, tucking your hands in your lap and stared at the display.

“I will be coming back tonight. Be here when your Earth time hits eleven.”

Your brows came together, “For...?”

“I will have Jetfire create a smaller com-link that will message me directly. You can no longer risk using in-house communications any longer,” There was that firm command to his tenor, but there was something gentle under it all. It made you want to cling to your seat, because everything was tilting hard to the side, dumping all you thought you knew overboard. He added, “You will contact me immediately if there's any trouble –"

“I won’t let them take your soldier,” You spilled out with papered strength.

Prowl let the annoyance of being cut off edge his tone, “I was _saying_ , contact me if there is _any_ trouble. That includes you, understand?”

You drew in a breath, squinting at the numbers on the display like they could tell you what the hell he meant. You settled with just _going with it_ , “Yes, Sir.”

“You are dismissed, Doctor,” His door opened, “Do not forget tonight. I will want to know how you’ve proceeded.”

You felt heavy as you pulled yourself out of the vehicle. Your long walk back to your lab and office was slow until you were plagued with the images of agents tearing through your files. That had you running. If they opened a single manila folder labeled _Arkeville_ , then that was that. You hadn’t seen a single black-suit since you entered, and when you made it to your small lab, you threw open the door with all your strength.

Here you were, face to face with your team of specialists. They went from pacing, arguing and debating, to quiet anticipation as they turned to you. The door hissed and clicked behind you.

Jane was the first to step forward, eyes worried like the rest. “We heard those Agents are here, and they’ll be looking into the explosion. With what happened to Project Arkeville, will they take it from us? Are we in trouble? Are _you_?”

How were you going to lie? They knew everything, from your strange electrocution to an alien consciousness inhabiting a human brain. They knew Henri’s memories were surfacing, and they were trying their damnest to find out what it all means – but how were you supposed to lie? How were you supposed to tell them that everything they had done pertaining to Henri was _criminal_? How were you supposed to tell them not to talk to any investigative agents?

“Did Doctor Arkeville have anything to say?” Holly stepped up beside the blonde, “What will be happening with our patient? Are we getting what we need? Did you tell him about the subject’s memories?”

Your heart pounded, trying to get out of your body and make a break for it. You gasped for air, and it did nothing to curb this feeling of suffocation. You suddenly turned and locked the door, bracing yourself against it as you covered your paling face. Your staff was immediate in coming to your aid, all panicked and frenzied.

“Doctor,” Holly was the first at your side, “What happened? Are they seizing the project? Are we at fault?”

You were nothing like those who lied to you.

“What we’ve been doing was unauthorized and unsanctioned,” Your voice wavered, struggling to remain steady as you took in the faces of those who trust you, “We have been committing crimes from unlawful human experimentation to misappropriation of government funding. I just found this out last night, that we could go to jail and lose everything.”

“I’m sorry,” You swallowed hard, forcing that lump back down your throat. “You have to choose...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autobot Private Channel : Frequency 5928.575 ߦ͸ɺΧοτφ
> 
> CMD Prowl: ***LOGS IN***  
> Prowl: You left me a fine mess.  
> LT Jazz: ***LOGS IN***  
> Jazz: What crawled up your tailpipe, now?  
> Prowl: Doctor Morgan.  
> Jazz: .....  
> Prowl: Shut up.  
> Jazz: Don't blame me.  
> Prowl: You created a monster. She is demanding and does not respect me.  
> Jazz: You mean, she doesn't 'fear' you?  
> Prowl: How is it different?  
> Jazz: You better be nice to my Baby Girl.  
> Prowl: I'm sorry, your what?  
> Jazz: Baby Girl. Its a human term for endearment for the females of the species. Didn't you download the data-packet on human culture?  
> Prowl: Only the imperative information. None of...whatever nonsense you just spat.  
> Jazz: Listen, why don't you try being a little nicer? You want to know how I got on her good side? I gave her a little of that Jazzy charm.  
> Prowl: ... You mean flirt. You flirted with a fleshling.  
> Jazz: Do I detect jealousy, Prowler?  
> Prowl: No. I should expect someone as shameless as you use such methods.  
> Jazz: Would you rather me use those methods on you, like I did back on Delphi?  
> CMD Prowl: ***LOGS OUT***


	12. Thin Veneer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choices are made. Perceptions change. Will you be left standing alone? Or will your foundations grow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Simon Furman was asked, "Why did you choose Sunstreaker to be [SPOILER] and made into [SPOILER] in Escalation (comic that takes place before MTMTE and RID)  
> He answered, "because he would hate it the most."
> 
> I wont lie, I see the appeal.  
> Sunstreaker is a bit of a dick. 
> 
> Sorry not sorry for this chunky chapter.

Everything shifted hard to port overnight, and Sunstreaker didn’t like it one bit. It left this icy block deep in his fuel pump. It wasn’t unlike that feeling right before a battle, or even that nagging sense where he _knew_ he was walking into an ambush.

What was worse, was that he was in unfamiliar territory. He didn’t have his brother or any kind of back-up. He was alone in facing this enemy he couldn’t see. He could feel something was happening, or about to – call it a warrior’s instinct after millions of years of fighting – but in the end, he was _alone_.

Sunstreaker’s brows came together, glaring at the ceiling while laying on his hospital bed. That wasn’t completely true. He wasn’t _completely_ alone. There was _you_.

Today was very different from yesterday. Your staff was absent most of the day, and where he would have been grateful, he was also hungry. Those little cans of red fuel only did so much to power this body. Still, the quiet left him with his thoughts, and that was the place he didn’t want to be.

He rubbed his digits together, remembering how yours felt between them. You were warm in more ways than one as your palms pressed against his, and it made his spark chamber fluctuate – chest flutter, _whatever._ That strong tone to your voice was that of a leader, something confident and unyielding and _trustworthy_. He recalled looking into your optics, and the color reminded him of a planet he once visited. The storms there raged along its atmosphere and reflected a menagerie of colors off the dust-mote crystals in the air. The sensation of thunder vibrating his spark-chamber and pairing with the patter of rain on his plating was an all-around beautiful experience. He would never admit it.

Just like he wouldn’t dare admit that all this was confusing and terrifying and there you were, _being nice_. You were being kind and understanding and when you touched his hands and looked at him the way you did – these weren't his feelings. It was all from this primitive brain in this inept meatsack he was trapped in. It was beyond infuriating to be within something so different and disgusting. It was weak, didn’t come equipped with firearms, couldn’t change into a faster mode, and it had all these blurry bits of data of _you_. Being human _sucked_. 

Being _this_ human sucked. This human was to be your conjunx – or whatever these squishies call their significant other – and he was recalling this data as if it was his own. He could pull up this warm, slippery memory of consoling you after your parent-unit had expired just like how he could recall data of watching gladiatorial matches in Kaon. He could feel the difference in the data, and a bead of terror began to grow. What if things would get worse – because they absolutely _could_ – and he couldn’t feel what separated him from this human?

Sunstreaker vented through this fleshling’s olfactory unit – sighed, _whatever_. He hated this. There was no other word for it, he hated, _hated_ this planet and everything that was on it. He hated this warm, smooshy feeling in this brain-module, and he hated that he knew exactly how this human felt about you. He had only had less than a quartex to know you, but with what little he saw, he felt he knew you for kilocycles. It combated everything he thought you were. You were annoying, bossy, ugly, frail, weak and _where the hell were you!?_ He didn’t care about you, not one bit, but he hadn’t seen you all day after you rushed out yesterday. Where were you? 

His door unexpectedly flew open, and he sat up fast, _not_ looking for your gross face. Why would he be hoping for you? That’s stupid, _you’re stupid_. Instead, he was graced with the familiar face of that imbecile, storming in with a few of the others from your little pack. Your species does like to group up.

“Put this on.” Jane tossed him a fresh pair of white clothes while the others began collecting things and cleaning at an urgent rate.

“What's this all about?” Sunstreaker’s eyes flicked from the fabrics clutched in his fists to the movement around him, “What's going on?”

She waved for him to hurry, “Just please, for the love of God, just put those on. We have to go.”

“No.” He rose to his feet, priming himself as if that human paint-job would come running in at any moment. He changed his answer, “Why?”

She hissed, pointing to what he held, “Put on the _fucking_ uniform, _please_.”

Uniform? Like what they wore? To display their faction – _ah_ , department? He always wore what your minions called _scrubs_ , and he hated them. Such a drab, green color. He was sure it was to display his ranking as your patient, but this kind of crisp white? What did this mean, and _why_ did he have to wear it? With how everyone frantically moved about, there was no mistaking this dread that shadowed over him. There was danger, but from _where_? 

He finally shed his clothes to put on the uniformed pants, shirt, and jacket. Another of your _subordinates_ promptly took what he tossed aside and bagged it in the garbage. Jane thrust a clipboard in his hands, “Just hold this like you have a job to do, and follow Holly. Understand?”

Fear started to grip him. He was so vulnerable and exposed as this _flesh-creature_. It was worse than getting caught without a blaster in his hand, and that _never_ happened. Whenever Sunstreaker felt threatened, he always responded in kind. “You tell me what's going on right now or I'm going to break those digits one by one.”

Jane balked, scuffling back and pushing open the door. Then _she_ peeked in – the one named _Holly_. Sunstreaker _really_ did not like her.

“He’s threatening me again,” The blonde tattled.

The short woman closed the distance in an instant. Him being significantly taller did not stop her from seizing his shirt-collar to yank him down to her level. “That ends tonight,” She held his startled gaze. She was about as fearless as you, except there was no compassion in her sharp eyes. Sharp and strict, like Prowl’s

 _Prowl_. His Commander that was so dismissive of his torment. Torment that you wanted to soothe. _You_ , and you alone.

“You listen to me,” Sunstreaker dropped the board to the floor and gripped onto her hand, intending to wrench her small frame across the room and make a break for it. He didn’t know where he’d run, but you’d find him. You’d find him, and you’d yell at him and tell him everything that’s going on. _Where were you? Why weren't you here?_

Holly crippled him and his plans by simply twisting the hand he held, wrapping those sender fingers in all the key places, and twisting her wrist just right to bend his _just right_. The pain of the wristlock paired with angling his arm to remove any leverage this body had, brought him down a knee. He cried out a slew of curses that only made sense to his people.

She leaned in close and crooned, “ _Non, non, petit garçon_ , you listen to me. I’m only saying this once. Follow me closely, keep your eyes on the clipboard, appear you are working, and say _nothing_.”

Sunstreaker didn’t take orders from these meatbags – he refused to! Where were you? Why weren't _you_ telling him what to do? He tried to pull his hand back, “No. Where’s –"

She twisted a little more, “Don’t make me break you. We need to leave _now_. Are you going to listen, or do I need to get creative?”

His wide alien blues held her glare in one last shot of defiance. She was small-framed, but _Primus_ she was intimidating, even though she was half his height. She was unassuming and fast, and he always made the mistake of underestimating this one. You chose your mini-con well. He gave a small nod, and she released her hold, casually picking up the clipboard and handing it back to him. He grudgingly rose to his feet and glared. Holly offered one last unimpressed glance before leading him out.

Sunstreaker shuffled along, tailing the curly-haired brunette as she continued to spout nonsense that was absolute gibberish to him. It would have probably made sense to you. _You_. His thoughts continuously returned to you. You were as present as you possibly were when it came to his tests. He let your staff poke and prod at him, only because you were there. You constantly told him things would be fine and he wanted so _badly_ to believe you. _He wanted to believe in you_.

You left yesterday. Why? What did this little fleshling say? Something about _suits_. You were concerned about certain humans coming, something about incarceration. _Incarceration_. Were you in a holding cell right now? Did your team turn on you? Holly continued to lead him down unfamiliar hallways, and his human chest-pump felt like it was struggling to break out of the confines of his chest-piece.

Did _you_ turn on him? Were those people you were so worried about here right now, and you were about to hand him over? These fleshy memories made him doubt you would ever do that to him. You would fight for him. Your promises _meant_ something. But these other humans? Your team? He didn’t know them. He knew nothing about them. He only knew that they answered to you, but there was no _you_.

He followed this swift little organic down a side corridor and he saw one of the service exits down the way. It led outside. What was waiting for him out there? Those _suits_? The hall was empty, and while he severely misjudged this human, she exposed the back of her head to him. One swift whack of this board should buy him enough time to run.

First, Sunstreaker would ask, only to see if you turned on him or not, “Where’s your superior?”

“She’s waiting for you,” Holly glanced over her shoulder, eyes flicking to the board in his hands. He trembled some. Did she know? Would he get away with it? With a confidence of someone who’s ten steps ahead in every direction, she pushed open the door, letting in the sound of the roaring rain.

 _She’s waiting for you._ He couldn’t control his steps. He pushed past her right outside in this downpour. Parked by the building was your embarrassment of a vehicle, and you opened the door, stepping out to see through this dreary weather. Your hair near-immediately plastered to the sides of your face. In the dim glow of the security lights alongside the building, there was a look about you that made his spark pulse. You looked genuinely grateful with your relieved smile, and that meant something to him. He felt an equal amount of assurance seeing your face, like a dip in the C.R. chamber after a rough battle – only because _now_ he finally knew where you fragging were!

Holly urged him along, opening the passenger door and guiding him in. Sunstreaker had a difficult time hearing you over the rain as you spoke to her from over your car hood. “Holly, I...I’m –"

“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” She said abruptly, almost with a slight edge of anger, “We’ve almost finished completely purging all evidence of _Project: Arkeville_. You’ve helped all you could with your files. We’re almost finished in the lab, and from there we’re going to sweep through our apartments. Faireborn is nearly complete with transferring and deleting all electronic data, and I’ll be getting in touch with Doctor Arkeville tonight. We will get our equipment and we will set things _right_. No one is going to prison, not when we didn’t do anything wrong.”

Warm tears mixed with the freezing rain, “Thank you. My God, I can’t –"

“Go home, Doctor. Get some rest, and clean yourself up. You need to look in control, now, more than ever.” She offered Sunstreaker one last glance before shutting the door, giving you a parting, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

As she retreated back in the building, you sat back in the vehicle, wiping the rain from your face. Sunstreaker watched you quietly as you slicked back your hair and took a deep breath. You stole a glimpse his way and turned on the car, not wasting a moment as you cut the wheel and drove the long way for the exit of the heavily monitored facility grounds.

“Where were you?” He asked, softer than he liked.

Your nose scrunched, a little insulted, “I’ve been in my office all day, pulling anything that pertained to Henri and you. Prowl is going to keep it all tucked away somewhere in his office.”

“You’ve been with _Prowl_ all day?” Sunstreaker also didn’t like how jealous he sounded. It wasn’t jealousy, he was just surprised. And _upset_. You could’ve been working on him.

You scoffed, “Not _all day_. Just long enough to load, uh, _him_ with our files, and to organize it all back at the Autobot base. We’ll be able to reference what we need, but we’ll have to go through _him_. Joy of joys.”

He snorted a light laugh at your grumbling. Watching you keep a fearlessly confident front with the Commander, then wither down to a whining and complaining mess behind his back was the most entertaining thing about you. He fell quiet as you slowed down by the gate. This convenient rainstorm kept the guard inside, and he waved you along, writing down your name and opening the way. As you were on the long road to your government-issued apartments, Sunstreaker finally asked, “So, mind telling me what the _hell_ is going on?”

You took a deep breath, “Doctor Arkeville came back from the capital.”

“I know. I was there when you were told.”

“And he came with a flock of government investigators.”

“The _suits,_ ” He said, and you nodded. Sunstreaker processed for a moment, and was shocked with what he finally realized, “You...you _smuggled_ me out.”

“I had to. You’re the illegal project that went wrong, and if you’re found out, you could be taken away and then I won’t know what will to happen to you.” You pressed a little more on the accelerator. “I’m _not_ letting that happen.”

He couldn’t turn away. He even felt his jaw slack at that sharpened expression of yours. He struggled to suck in the oxygen this body needed, and he couldn’t explain why. Organic bodies were so strange and annoying. _You_ were strange and annoying. There must have been some ulterior motive, some _real_ reason behind you doing this. It wasn’t because you _liked_ him, because he surely didn’t like _you_. He peered, “Why?”

You risked a glance, “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this? This is obviously dangerous for you, so why are you risking yourself?” He sneered suspiciously, “Do you not trust your people with your sparkmate’s body?”

“Are –are you serious?” Your tone hit an affronted pitch, “They’ll –you, yes, I mean – no! I won’t lie to you; no, I don’t trust them, but _you_. I don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

Sunstreaker shied away from you as if your very words were a foreign weapon. You continued to blather on, “Yes, I could just turn you in and plead ignorance to what I’ve been doing, but I'm not. There are so many reasons why I can't – _won’t_ – and the biggest one is you. Not my pride, not Henri, not the fact Prowl already threatened _murder_. My priority is _you_. I’m not letting anyone strap you to a table to do God-knows-what. I said I’m getting you out, and I _meant it_.”

You panted, fighting to catch your breath. Your eyes flicked in his direction a few times, expecting him to snap back with something offensive, per usual. Instead, those bright alien blues darted about for a few beats, fighting with himself and the original image he had of you for so long. He spoke with this faux confidence, “Your soldiers are working together to support you. They’re loyal. You must be pretty admirable.”

Your brows pinched together, snapping right back, “They’re not my....oh. _Oh_. Was that...a compliment?”

He rolled his eyes, “ _Tsk_ , like I’d insult you _now_ , not when you can still turn around. Nope, you can keep on with your dashing rescue.”

 _Oh my God, he was genuinely funny._ You were so shocked, you snorted out an unflattering chuckle, devolving to a few coughs. You ended your blunder with clearing your throat and letting the space between fall silent. He didn’t say anything more, and you took advantage of the quiet, submerging yourself in the recesses of your mind – your own little personal office. You switched back to the calculating Scientist, doing what you do best on that fathomless chalkboard within. You started mapping out what was to be done next, planning ten steps ahead in every direction, adding contingencies for failures and hiccups. This part of you was always your greatest strength, but also your biggest weakness. Anything that happened outside your mind-written map had you nearly crippled. Thankfully, your passenger left you alone so you could plan and plan and plan.

Sunstreaker remained a silent observer of your driving. The vehicle slowed down to a cautious speed – the speed _limit_. You didn’t want to garner attention, fine, but was it always going to be like this? Have you ever experienced _real_ speed? Judging by the far-away look on your face, he’d guess _no_. You started nibbling your lip and humming. Not really a tune, but more along the lines of talking to yourself. Sunstreaker’s brows furrowed, a little amused. _You busy-body_. You weren't kidding when you said you were constantly working. Even outside your lab, you carried it all with you.

He found himself smirking. What did you do for fun? He shifted through these warm and slippery memories, and had a few blurry images of you dancing, drinking, socializing, playing games, but did you do any of that anymore? Do you still try to have fun? He bet, if he was back in his body, you would love it if _he_ was the one that was driving. He would hit speeds that would out-run any Decepticon Seeker, and you would smile and laugh and _Primus what the hell was he thinking?!_

Sunstreaker whipped his head to glower out the window, feeling a red heat on his face. If he was in his body, none of this would be happening, and he would grudgingly do his job on this dirtball, counting the cycles till he could leave. He would have never met you, never _dealt_ with you, and life would have been wonderful. As soon as you get him back in his body, you would only see taillights. He would be perfectly fine if he never saw you again.

 _Would I?_ He found himself asking, and it was such a sudden and unexpected question that he silently panicked. He _hated_ humans, _hated_ this mudball. He fought so hard to avoid coming here, that their great leader he came to respect so much stepped in and gave the order himself _. It would be good for him_ , they said, _it will be a teaching experience_ , they said, _it’ll be so much fun_ , they said. Now, what would they be saying? This was still a good teaching experience? Right now, between the ones who forced him to come here and the humans who _weren't so bad_ , there was only one who seemed to be there for him.

Sunstreaker slowly looked back over at you as it was all coming to him. When everyone else abandoned him, _you_ were there. When he was alone, _you_ were there. When he was dealing with all the massive gravitational shifts of emotions – human and otherwise, _you_ were there. Now, when his life was at the utmost risk, you were here doing everything you could to protect him. Even when it hurt you to look at him overlong and you tried so hard to overcome that, you were _still there_.

 _My priority is you_.

Not yourself. Not your reputation. Not your sparkmate – though there was still doubt – but you made it very clear that Sunstreaker’s welfare was foremost in your mind. You could have left him. You could have saved yourself. You could have been _selfish_. He tried to fight with this new image of you that blossomed right before his optics. You were bossy, uptight, revolting, and _boring_ , but now? You were determined, compassionate, understanding, and you had this _fierce_ look to your optics that made him want to hand you a blaster and cover your flank. Have you ever shot a weapon before? He would have to show–

“You’re staring.” You quietly said, self-conscious.

He grunted sharply, averting his eyes. He didn’t realize he had been, or more like he didn’t think you’d notice.

“Do you have something on your mind?” You asked with a tone that told Sunstreaker your concern was genuine.

He returned a hesitant gaze, “You’re not the type of human I thought you were.”

You nearly missed your turn, braking a little hard and jerking the wheel. Your voice rose incredulously, “Wha-what? What did you think I was?”

“Gross.”

“What am I now?”

“Still gross.”

You simpered, “I can still turn this car around.”

Something in him knew you wouldn’t, no matter how much he goaded and insulted you. He cocked his head like he was still analyzing you. “I used to think you only cared for this vessel. Listen, if that’s how it is, I won’t even be mad. It would make things so much easier.”

You turned down another street, and in the distance were the lights of the private community of workers. Your eyes continued to flit between him and the road. “I know I can’t save Henri without helping you, but that’s not the main reason why I’m doing this. Sunstreaker, I _do_ care what happens to you, and I care what happens to Henri. I can do both. I’m doing both right now. Why do you think anything else would be easier?”

“Because you’re being _too nice_ and it’s making things complicated,” He got a little louder.

And you found it absolutely ridiculous he was about to turn your generosity and kindness into an argument. Of course, that didn’t stop you from snappishly responding, “I’m not being _nice_ , this is not me being nice. This is me being...me!”

“You mean you can get _nicer_?” Sunstreaker sounded like he was about to gag, “Why are you like this?”

“Like _what_? I swear to God, if you say _nice_ –" You cut the wheel, jerking the car to a stop in a parking space, slamming the gearstick home.

“Different!” He yelled over you, “Why are you different now?”

You fell quiet, not having an answer for him. Not _wanting_ to answer him. You didn’t want to admit that you had to work up a tolerance of seeing Henri’s face, but it not _being_ Henri. You didn’t want to admit that the more and more you saw of Sunstreaker’s expressions and mannerisms, the less and less you saw your fiancé. You killed the engine and let the silence build up once again.

Sunstreaker sounded like he was pleading, “I see you differently now, and I _hate_ it. I hate that I see some of this fleshling’s memories, feel some of his feelings, and I hate how I don’t know if that’s doing something to me, to how _I_ feel.”

You inwardly panicked. Would anything in that brain influence how Sunstreaker viewed the world? Would there be a point where the line between the alien and the man you love would start to dissolve? You risked meeting his eyes, and he was looking to you for _something_ , some kind of answer, some kind of comfort. You kept yourself together, adding that possible eventuality to your wide map of plans.

“I just risked everything I cared about to smuggle you out,” You said, dead serious, “When I say that, what do you feel – _quickly_.”

“Angry –" He stammered some, looking around, “Humiliated.” Then his eyes returned to yours, “Grateful.”

You swallowed, “that’s _you_. Those are _your_ feelings. Henri would have been terrified.”

He stared at you for a moment, his face split with a smirk and he snorted, “Would he, now? And _that’s_ your bonded?”

There was a mocking tone to his drawl, but you didn’t bite. Instead, you were quickly lost in how you did fall for a man who often let you take the lead. He admired your strength and confidence, and whenever you broke that domestic mold, Henri always said, _“That’s why I love you.”_ That’s what you loved most about him. He never tried to stifle your independence, never tried to hold you back. He was your pillar, your foundation, _your_ _equal_.

“Why haven’t you asked me about what I’ve seen?”

That snapped you back to the present so hard, your vision blurred. No, _those were tears_. You turned away to rub your eyes.

“That human paint-job asked me. Why haven’t you?”

Of course, Alan would have asked. He doesn’t remember calling Henri that night. He needed to hear those words, the same exact words that your fiancé told you, in order for him to forgive himself as you already had. You sniffed, “Let’s go inside, okay?” You didn’t wait for an answer as you already left the car.

Sunstreaker got out and silently followed, eyeing you all the way. He seemed to struggle with what just happened, with the shift in your mood. Was it because he taunted you on your choice in mates? No, you would have responded with teeth and fury. You were sad again – he didn’t like the feeling in his chest when you looked sad.

You unlocked the main door with one key, led him up a flight of stairs and to your apartment, unlocking it with another. All the while you were telling yourself, you didn’t ask him because it wasn’t relevant. You didn’t need to know how Henri felt that night you both argued. You didn’t need to know his thoughts right before he crashed his car.

You did what you do best: push it all down. Deep, deep, down in the darkness where you would never see it again. You squatted down to untie your shoes, “Alan is setting you up with an identity within the system so we can bring you to the facility to keep up with tests. In the meantime, we’ll be cohabitating.”

“Wonderful,” He muttered sarcastically, following suit.

“There are a few rules you’ll have to follow.”

“I’m shocked. Really, I am,” His deadpanned tone told you he wasn’t.

You’ll have to learn to deal with his smart-mouth because you were confident this millions-of-years old alien wasn’t about to change overnight. You huffed, finishing with your shoes and standing, “Sunstreaker, if we’re about to have any kind of professional relationship –" you lost the basic concept of speech.

Rule number one: personal space. He was standing so close, you had to angle your head. You forgot how tall he was, but remembered how perfectly you fit up against him – your fiancé, Henri. _Not_ Sunstreaker.

He spoke in a low tone that gave you goose-bumps, “I don’t _do_ professional. I think we can agree that professionalism was tossed out tonight.” he chuckled as he stepped away, “You were annoying as hell when you played _professional_. Try something else for a change.”

Your shameful moment shuddered out with your breath, and you sucked in bitter-tasting air. You clenched your fists, flashing back to all those that doubted your ability. “I don’t _play_ at my job. This is who I am.”

Casually, he plopped down on your sofa as if he belonged, “Oh _please_ ,” He tapped his temple, “I got an idea of what you were like before all this. There are some... _interesting_ sides to you.” He waved his hand about with such a cocky smirk that it made you want to shove him off the balcony.

Instead, you paled with mortification. _Interesting_ in what way?! Oh God, you never considered that he could see the more intimate side to Henri’s memories. What else could he be implying? There was no other way to interpret that. You felt your face heat to an unbearable degree as you retreated back to your kitchen. It was a mistake to bring him here. Maybe you could have him _cohabitate_ with Alan. You might as well euthanize Sunstreaker now if that was your next move. 

“Whoa! Wait!” He jumped to his feet and pursued, “Where you going? What –"

“You don’t know me!” You whirled around, converting your embarrassment into anger, “You know how Henri knew me, but _you_ don’t know me. Just because you can see into bits of his consciousness doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like –like _that!_ You have no right!”

“Like I can control the scrap I’m seeing!” He planted his hands on his hips, face screwed as if _he_ was the insulted party, “You think I _like_ this? You think I like seeing this alien data with your stupid face? Trust me –"

“I _don’t_ trust you!”

Instant silence.

The look on Sunstreaker’s face plucked at your heartstrings. _That hurt him_. You slowly brought your fingers to your lips, as if doubting the words came from your mouth. His hands dropped to his sides as his angry furrow relaxed to artificial indifference.

You told him over and over, _trust me._ He was starting to. You _proved_ that he could, and you would do everything you could to never let him down, but you didn’t trust _him_. To tell a warrior like him, _“Trust me to watch your back, but I wouldn’t want you watching mine,”_ is a slap in the faceplates. That’s fine. He didn’t care if you trusted him, didn’t care what this _flesh-creature_ thought. Maybe this vessel’s consciousness was starting to confuse him. This needed to happen, so he could keep himself separated from these foreign emotions of forging some kind of understanding with you. He needed things to be clearer. Cold and clear, like ice.

“And you tell me to trust you? Is that how it is?” His face betrayed his word, “Fine.”

 _Shit_. You messed up, _big time_. You worked so hard to try to get Sunstreaker to believe you, and you just went and shattered what little diplomacy that was between you both. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, it’s just _you weren't thinking_ , and you blurted out whatever first came to mind. He went to turn away, and your hands fastened around the sleeve of his uniformed jacket. “I’m sorry,” You said, pleading, “I didn’t mean it.”

“But you said it. You say things you don’t mean?” He wrenched his arm away with a grunt, “ _Humans_.”

You had a difficult time meeting his stern glare, “I was upset and it just came out and...and I _hate_ that this is happening.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were _enjoying_ it.” He crossed his arms and took a wide stance, looking a little ridiculous in that skinny body.

You stepped to the side to lean back against the wall, hugging yourself. You decided to put yourself out there in that timid voice you loathed, “If you’re seeing embarrassing... _things_...about me...just don’t –don’t say anything about it.”

“Don’t say anything? What, am I supposed to suffer these images on my own?” Sunstreaker chuckled, “You’re being ridiculous. What memories are so embarrassing that you...would...”

His glare softened as he held your fleeting gaze. Your face burned a little brighter. Either he’s seen intimate memories or he hasn’t, and judging by the slightly perturbed look on his face, _he hasn’t_ , and you were about to have one hell of an uncomfortable conversation.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” You could have shriveled and died right there.

“Ooh, ok. I get it now.”

You were always curious about the Cybertronian race. You learned so much from Bluestreak, Jazz, and Jetfire about their fantastic culture and their once glorious world. You learned about bonding rituals between both friends and loved ones – but you never learned about _that_ , because a discussion like that would either have to be over a patient with a _very_ awkward injury, or over many, _many_ drinks. 

“I don’t know how... giant autonomous aliens do...those sorts of things...but I'm an organic...and...do – _do_ you get it? I mean, would you even know?” You got quieter and quieter as the sentence died out, hanging heavy in the air like a fetid corpse.

Sunstreaker blinked at you, then cast his wide fluttering eyes to the floor. His expression was a bold neon sign, _is this really happening?_ He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. You were prepared to give him the time he needed because you must have dealt plus-twenty psychic damage. He started making noises. It was hushed at first, restrained to soft little snickers, but it grew to full-blown laughter.

He snapped. You broke him. The alien within the organic couldn’t take it anymore, and now you have to report to Prowl that you mentally shattered his soldier. When he started settling down, was when you leaned over to try and see his face, “I’m so glad you’re having a good time.”

“I’m not, oh Primus, _I'm not_ ,” He panted, rubbing his face. He gesticulated about as he explained, “You can trust me on this: _any_ organic copulation is revolting. I have not seen anything of the like, and if I do, I'm doing everything I can to forget it. I have no interest in your greasy, sticky, disgusting... _ugghh_ ,” He gagged, “Just thinking about – _huurggk –_ oh, gross. I don’t even want to know.”

You never thought in your life you would ever feel relief paired with being a _little_ offended. Lovemaking was not revolting and being with you was certainly _not_ disgusting. You opened your mouth to defend yourself, then thought better of it. It’s best that he thinks this way. It gave you some comfort to know that he wouldn’t be dwelling on the intimate memories you so desperately wanted to stay private.

“That’s why you said you didn’t trust me? Over this?” He said, and it sounded a little bit gentle.

“You said...you said you _knew_ about my _interesting_ side. It sounded like you...meant something else.”

“ _Ugh_ , no. Why would I –just _no_. I know you used to get overcharged with your comrades, and you used to play this game –"

“Overcharged?” You cut in.

“Ah,” He struggled for a moment, “You drank high-grade. Made you loopy. You tried...dancing, I think?”

You barked out a sharp laugh, “Oh, _drunk_! I got drunk. Yeah, I haven’t done that in a _long_ time.” You weren't about to state why.

“Of course not, or else you’d be a little more tolerable.” He rolled his eyes while muttering, “You would get along famously with Ultra Magnus, you know.”

You desperately wanted to move on from your blunder. It was getting late, you couldn’t remember the last time you ate actual food, and you wanted to get your new roommate set up on the couch and call it a night. You made an attempt to end things on a lighter note, leaving the comfort of the wall at your back to start straightening up your living-room. “That’s hardly fair. I’ve never met this _Ultra Magnus_ , but I’m sure he’s very pleasant.”

Sunstreaker huffed, “ _Pleasant_ isn’t in the rulebook, but neither is having thirty kils of rebar up your aft.”

You paused. You had no idea what any of that meant – except you did know what _rebar_ was, and you had a vague idea of what he was insinuating. You threw over your shoulder, “I feel like I should be offended.”

“Don’t be. You only have five kils.”

Best to just roll with it and continue picking up your rogue socks that escaped your clothes hamper. You folded up the blankets that made their way out of your closet to make little nest-bundles on the couches. Sunstreaker was quiet, and you checked on him. He was simply watching you, head tilted to the side just slightly enough to show you he was thinking of something. With how his hip was set against the back of your smaller sofa, arms still crossed, he had this air like he’d been your roommate much longer than an hour.

You paused a moment to pull out your hairpin, scratching your scalp to loosen your hair. You turned your back to him to stack the blankets. “You want to know what else is not fair?”

“Yeah, keep adding to the list like we can _do_ something about it.”

You ignored his comment, continuing, “You’re able to learn about me without even saying a word. I don’t know much about you. I don’t know what you do, or –" When you turned, Sunstreaker was _right there_ and you really needed to find a way to tell him to stop doing this ninja-creep. You were tempted to start swinging your arms to reassert a _bubble-check_.

He put his hand out, and you flinched a little. His brow quirked at your response, and he offered a cock-eyed grin, “We did this before – human greeting, remember? My designation is Sunstreaker, and I’m an Autobot – the very best. I’m a warrior, a front line gunner, and I’m very good at what I do.”

Your eyes darted between him and his offer, “And...what _do_ you do?”

“Get me back in my body and find out.” He raised a smug brow.

 _Smooth_. You were both impressed and irritated with how arrogant he was, but ultimately found it pretty entertaining, and there was nothing you wanted more than a momentary distraction. You were friends with a man who only flicked a lit cigarette at your face and called you names, why not acquaint yourself with an alien who felt superior to your race and called you ugly?

Laughter bubbled up as you took his hand and gave a light shake. You ignored the slight lurch deep in your guts at the feeling of his warm and firm grip. “Ok, ok. I’m sure there’s more to you than that, and I wouldn’t mind hearing about it, Sunny. I happen to love hearing you guys talk about yourselves.”

His grin faltered, hearing his nickname from you. Not many were allowed to call him that, but he found himself not really minding. He pulled away to gesture to the couch behind you, “What a coincidence. I happen to love talking about myself and how awesome I am.” He wasn’t joking. “We can get started right now.”

Sunstreaker’s smile fell completely, looking off to reign himself in. What the hell was he doing? Talking to you like you were his comrade for a hundred-thousand years or so. Your mood shifted wildly all over the place tonight, and deep down, he knew absolutely _nothing_ about you, or how to talk to you. His first try of acting casual blew up in his face. Who’s to say you won’t get triggered again when he starts talking about Harmonex, and how he _carried_ that team that Blurr was leading...

But you laughed. It was bright and sincere and sounded... _nice_. He turned back, watching your eyes squeeze shut as you covered your mouth. He couldn’t stop this strange smile that tugged at his lips. You patted him on the shoulder, calming down to a few chuckles, “If you’re anything like Bluestreak, I’d better get something in my stomach and buckle down for the long-haul.”

He snorted, “I’m nothing like that motor-mouth. I’m actually interesting.”

You felt like you just created a monster. A giant, egotistical monster. It was definitely a refreshing difference from his more surly side you were used to. You waved your hand, “Why don’t you take your _interesting_ self down the hall and to the left. Hop in the shower while I heat us up a late dinner. Can you handle that on your own?”

“I’m familiar with your wash-racks, don’t insult me now. We were doing so well,” He drawled as he followed your directions.

After fetching some pillows, you made a little bed on your couch. Hopefully, he won’t complain too much. You moved for the little kitchenette, rummaging for something to put together. You cringed, as there wasn’t much to be had. You would have to bother Holly to fill your pantry – but she already had so much on her plate. Would you even have time for a day-trip out to restock your cupboards? Maybe you could write it off as stress relief and take Sunstreaker with you.

 _Sunstreaker_. That cheeky bastard. Your search ground to a halt as you replayed the interaction between you and the man who _was_ your patient. You admit, you handled that situation poorly, but _he_ didn’t have to address you with so much _suggestion_ in his tone! You would have to get used to it. These aliens didn’t think like the average human population, so what you viewed as inappropriate was not so much to your new roommate. Cultural differences were fascinating, but sometimes things got tangled in misinterpretation. You’d have to be more patient.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. No matter how many times you said it, it wouldn’t change anything, but how many times does life have to _fuck_ _you_ and not leave a tip? You just wanted things to work out, just _once_ , and if that one thing was a little peace between you and your patient, then you’ll take it. You suddenly felt a pang in your chest, realizing how much you missed Bluestreak.

You would never admit to having those fragile moments of needing to be held, but the embrace of a human held no compare being cradled in the hands of a sentient metal alien that stood over thirty feet tall and can shoot the tip off a squirrel’s tail from a hundred miles off – Bluestreak would never, though, he likes the little critters. He would gently hold you against the warmth of his chestplate, telling you things would be fine. You weren't sure if things would ever be _fine_. You were harboring a failed experiment in your home, committing criminal act number _four_ by trying to hide all the evidence, and having real, expressive conversations with the alien animating the brain-dead body of your fiancé. How could things ever get to being _fine_ again?

“Hey.”

You didn’t realize you had been in your head for so long while the open fridge struggled to stay cool. You turned and stared blankly at the man wearing only a towel around his hips.

“You got anything for me to put on?”

You continued to stare for a moment, feeling that familiar ache of how things used to be. Henri was a bit leaner, looking more toned and athletic. Over time, his body lost a lot of that muscle mass, becoming something you couldn’t recognized. It started to hurt, realizing the longer Sunstreaker inhabited that body, the more you started to lose that image of the man you loved.

Wordlessly, you walked around him and back to your bedroom. He made a noise, softly calling your attention, but you continued to step over the messes in your bedroom and sifted through your closet. You dragged out a large black trash bag and ripped it open, hit with a stale scent that made your eyes water. These were Henri’s old clothes. You were saving his things for when he woke.

“Hey, you okay?”

Are you _okay_? You never thought Sunstreaker would ask that. The soft worry in his voice felt like pinpricks to your eyes, and you wished he’d yell at you, demand from you, mock you – _anything_ but concern, anything to get your mind off how things just kept failing all around you. You stood and made your way past him, “There’s some clothes.”

You winced, pausing by the couch. _Some_ clothes. Not _Henri’s_. Your knees buckled, and you sought a seat on the cushions. You hid your face in your hands. This wasn’t you. You weren't some covert criminal skirting the law, but here you were, playing the part as desperately as you could. Of all the times for things to start catching up to you, weighing you down, it had to be now.

“That was a stupid question.”

You looked up, seeing Sunstreaker donned in the yellow tee-shirt your fiancé hardly ever wore. He rubbed the back of his head, glancing off with an unsure sigh, “I mean, of course you’re not okay. I think we’re both in a perpetual state of slag, and nothing is fragging _okay_.”

You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling. You shook your head, agreeing.

“You’re afraid.”

 _Damn right you were_. The consequences of getting caught were longer than your current grocery list seven times over. 

“That’s why you won’t ask me about the data I'm seeing.”

The feeling of color draining from your face was probably the same feeling of having too much blood drawn. You weren't even _thinking_ of that – or rather you _didn’t_ want to think of it. You didn’t want to know. You shook your head again, eyes wide and pleading. _You didn’t want to hear that Henri hated you in his last moments of consciousness, cursing you as he was pinned under his car._

Sunstreaker crossed the small distance, “A lot of what I’m seeing is blurry. I can't see what happened that night when he fell in stasis lock.” He sat beside you, cushion width apart. He cringed uncomfortably for a moment, struggling to say, “But...I can tell you that he... _ugh..._ loved you. Does that make you feel _any_ better?”

Your hands slapped over your mouth to hold back the torrent of sobs, but the dam in your eyes broke. Tears were instantaneous as your gaze was locked onto his. You gasped, wanting to hold it all in. You didn’t want to cry, not in front of him, not in front of _anyone_.

“Ah, slag,” He huffed, rolling his eyes a moment. He let out a long sigh, steeling himself for what he was about to do next. Sunstreaker reached out his hand to you.

 _No_.

He patted your shoulder.

 _No, please_.

“Get it out of your system. I won’t say anything.”

You broke. You lost control and curled over, letting it all out. You felt his hand rest on your back, and you wished you were with Bluestreak, pressing yourself against the hard angles of his body, listening to his internals hum. You hated the feel of a human hand comforting you, but Sunstreaker wasn’t _human_.

You caught onto the slight mildew scent of the clothes Sunstreaker wore. You held onto Henri’s things for so long, and it wasn’t for nothing. He loved you. You always dreaded the thought that those moments after he left out in that snowstorm, he hated you – _blamed you_. He loved you.

Throughout the weight of it all and the thin veneer of being stoic and professional, it was becoming harder and harder to hold it all together. You were gasping and drowning, reaching out for anything to help you stay afloat.

 _He loved you_. You never thought the one sitting beside you, hand rubbing little hesitant circles on your back, would be the one to throw you a rope to keep your head afloat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much earlier that day:
> 
> "That wasn't terrible," You sighed as you set down the last box of files you unloaded from Prowl's trunk. He transformed and looked over the stacks you had to organize for him to stow away. You brushed a sweat-damp lock of hair from your face, offering a tired smile of gratefulness, "I know you didn't like being a 'transport mech' for an hour, but thank you very much for your help."  
> "I wasn't given much choice," He grumbled, arms crossing.  
> You sighed, almost letting things be, but you just had to say, "I know doing this is in your best interest, but when I say thanks, I mean it. Take my damn gratitude, okay?"  
> Prowl glared, his shoulders couldn't have been any more squared, "Very well, I'll accept your thanks, but you need to curb your tone while addressing a superior, Infant Female."  
> You glanced up at him, then stared, unblinking, "What did you call me?"  
> The officer reset his vocals with a cough, "Nothing, translator glitch. Excuse me, I have other duties to attend to. Comm. me if you have a need." He brisked out, grinding his denta, all the while muttering how much he wanted to deactivate Jazz.


	13. This could cause a War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've smuggled out Sunstreaker, and taken those damning steps to keep him safe. Now, you just need to keep a low profile and not get anyone's attention. Easy, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLIDAY HIATUS - I'll be taking off for the next two weeks for myself, focusing on projects and family.
> 
> Next release date: January 6th 
> 
> Enjoy your respective festivities, friends, and take care of yourselves.

Having children wasn’t important to you.

Friends around you did what was expected: get married, and start a family. Sure, you felt the pressure and cringed every time someone asked when you’d be _tying the knot_ , when will your home be filled with the _pitter-patter of little feet_. You were happy with how things were. Honestly, you’ve never been more content to just sit in a lab with Henri, debating the dangers of the over-usage of antibiotics. You didn’t need a ring on your finger, and you’d often went without your engagement ring, as it had a habit of tearing your latex gloves.

Not saying your friends who _did_ choose the path of marriage and kids were unhappy, but how would you know? They faded from your orbit, and you let them. It happened organically, and you weren't resentful of it at all. They tried to help you get over what happened to Henri, but they talked about him like he was already dead. It was easier to deal with this on your own, instead of people telling you _at least you didn’t have any children,_ and _you’re still young,_ like you could just move on because it was so _simple_. It wasn’t any comfort to be pressured to let him go. _Pull the plug_. You don’t talk to those friends anymore. Many of them walked away from you.

You would rather go back to people hassling you to have children, as you imagined they would very much be like Sunstreaker, right now, with how he huffed and fidgeted and kicked at the underside of your glove-box. He continuously tugged at his new uniform, and he did _not_ like the sound of your voice right now.

Like a seasoned interrogator hell-bent on breaking your victim, you asked the same question for the hundredth time, “What's your name.”

“Sunstreaker,” He answered, and you couldn’t tell if he was doing that on purpose. He was so annoyed, he was considering turning himself into your government just to end it all.

“No!” You growled out a rattle from your throat, “For the love of God, _no._ Your name is Samuel Striker. You answer to Sammy. Please say it. Say it till you lose your damn voice and the agents think you’re a mute.”

“I refuse. That’s such a stupid name,” He crossed his arms like a _pouting child_.

“Alan worked hard to give you an alias so you can enter the building,” You argued, “You can’t just parade in there sparkling like a freaking disco-ball screaming _look at me, I’m Sunstreaker!_ ”

He quirked a brow at you, “And why can’t I?”

You seriously considered cutting the wheel and parking in the forest for the remainder of your known existence. You really wished you knew whether he was being serious, or just messing with you.

“Why didn’t you just leave me at your place?” He flopped his arms to his sides, groaning, “I _can_ function without you.”

You thought of him breaking your microwave. According to Bluestreak, that thing buzzed something fierce. That’s all you needed: an alien hurling your appliances off your balcony. “And how am I supposed to work on you? Drive the hour back and forth for every test?”

Sunstreaker threw his head back in his tantrum, “This is stupid! Why can't we just take over the area? Use your agents as hostages, set up a perimeter for enemy forces, and bunker down till we get things straightened out. You can work on me from there without any of this aggravation.”

“Something tells me Prowl already made plans for exactly that,” You muttered.

“You _know_ that would be the easiest thing to do.” He drawled as he leaned your way, and there was something a little thick and _seductive_ that coated every word. “Think about it. You’ll have that entire facility to yourself, and everyone would be out of your way. We’ll exchange hostages for things you need. Everything will be at the tip of those little digits you have. C’mon, you _know_ you want to see a good fire-fight.”

It was a switch from the surly Autobot, to whatever _this_ was. There was a shift between you and Sunstreaker, last night. Whether it was from you smuggling him out, or you baring your wounds and insecurities to him, the air between you changed to something amenable. Something a little more _familiar_ , like good-natured rivals on a friendlier level _._ The rest of the night ended in comfortable silence as you both fell asleep to the TV – _on separate sofas_ – and carried on this morning like nothing really happened.

You snorted and smiled, “A hostile takeover? No.”

“Aww, but look, I see you’re thinking about it,” he huffed a haughty chuckle, “Making someone eat bullets makes me smile, too.”

“You’re talking about slaughtering my _people_ ,” You say incredulously, unable to curb the laughter in your tone. You were sure he was joking. They were Autobots, the good guys! Prowl and Sunstreaker would never harm any of their smaller, more fragile allies. _Right?_

“Your _people_ can suck my exhaust pipe,” He shot back. 

You looked between him and the road, holding up that indomitable pointer-finger, “I’m shutting this conversation down. I am _not_ dignifying this with a legit debate.”

“Then let’s not debate, and we’ll call Prowl as soon as we get there.”

“No,” You counter, “We get there, and you don’t say a single word. If you do, I’m shoving you in a supply closet.”

“Oh please _try_ , tiny femme,” His taunts were playful, but they did nothing to rid you of this anxiousness.

You didn’t grace him with a response as you slowed, pulling up to the gate and signing the both of you in. The guard eyed your passenger curiously before waving you on, and you swallowed your heart back down into your chest. You pulled around to the smaller _Facility_ _A_ where Alan was waiting in the parking lot, cigarette smoke swirling in the chilly breeze. You rolled up alongside him, and as you and Sunstreaker exited, the tech shoved a few items in your patient’s arms.

“Your badge, wallet, ID, the works. Don’t fuck this up. A lot of good people are digging themselves deep for you.”

The Autobot gave him a hard glare, squaring up the tattooed man. You broke his macho display and made him glower as you said, “Something’s going to go wrong. He’s not remembering anything – or he’s not taking this seriously, I can’t tell.”

“I’m not taking _you_ seriously,” He jabbed.

Alan held his arms out in that famous _WTF_ posture, “Really? How hard is it? You have a disguise and you’re infiltrating the enemy. What kind of shoot-em-up robot are you?”

“I’m _not_ a robot.”

“No, you’re not, because robots are actually _smarter_ than you.”

“When I get in my body, I _swear_ –"

Alan jutted a finger in his chest, “ _If_ you do. Fuck this up, and you’ll hafta keep trash-talkin’ me at this level.”

You let them bicker, so long as no one threw any hands. Your attention was caught a ways across the parking lot, and that small breakfast of a biscuit felt heavier than ever. You whispered, “Fuck.”

Your cursing was uncommon enough. When key words would escape, it was like a klaxon of nuclear proportions, and those who knew you best _paid attention_. Alan twisted quickly to glance over his shoulder, spotting Agent Simmons exit the front doors of the facility, and stroll in your direction. Alan turned back, hissing out the very same word.

“Take him inside, I’ll distract him,” You ordered.

“With what? Your stellar personality?” Alan scoffed, but still gripped onto Sunstreaker’s arm, “You couldn’t seduce your way out of a wet paper bag.”

Before they could scamper away, Agent Simmons called out, “Mr. Faireborn. Doctor Morgan. Good morning.” He walked up casually as if there was nothing going on that called for his presence to begin with, “The coffee you guys have is practically heartburn in a cup. I don’t know how you can stand it. I had to bring my own.”

Alan and you could only watch helplessly as the agent observed Sunstreaker up and down. He didn’t wait for any kind of response as he held out his hand to the blond, “I’m assigned Chief Investigator, Agent Simmons. I don’t remember your face from my list, and I would remember. You have some unique eyes there, my friend.”

The world fell mute and faded to this very moment. One of the other facilities could explode in a rain of fire, or Prowl could lead the Autobots to commandeer this area by force, or even Omega Supreme could put on a pretty dress and sing anything from the Jackson Five. Point being, you wouldn’t notice a damn thing outside what was transpiring right before your eyes.

Sunstreaker took his hand and gave a smooth shake, “Birth defect. I’m a little... _sensitive_ about it. I’m Sam Striker, but everyone calls me Sunny.”

“Apologies, I won’t bring it up again,” Simmons said quickly, then asked with a good-natured chuckle, “Sunny, huh?”

The alien-turned-human smirked, “A nickname for my _stunning personality_.”

_Oh my God_ , he parroted the phrase Alan used. You were in _awe_ at how casually he behaved, how he responded lightning-quick, how he just came off as cocky in the _face of danger_! Were you witnessing millions of years of skill, or arrogance?

“Heh, I see,” Agent Simmons gave him one more up-down before retracting his hand, “Are you on Doctor Morgan’s team?”

“Technically, I’m on the engineering team under Mr. Faireborn, but with the recent incident, I’ve been bouncing between her team and his to fix up her medical equipment and reintegrate their datalogs.”

“Right, yes. Striker, now I remember seeing your name on the list of those with corrupted employment files. No worries, we’ll be sending for a human resources officer to sort all that out.” He turned his attention to the tattooed engineer, “I’m all for hard-copied files, just for this very reason of data loss. Good job with recovering what you could on the employment records.”

Alan only made a _pfft_ noise, waving his hand like it was no big deal. He gave you that knowing side-eye, rife with anxious energy. He took advantage of the data corruption, and maybe helped it along a little to add a few more obstacles between the agents and Sunstreaker’s real identity.

“Do you have any questions for me?” The alien asked as nonchalantly as this man was acting, “With all due respect, there's work to be done.”

Agent Simmons smiled that frighteningly disarming smile, giving the blond man a pat on the shoulder, “There most certainly is. No, Mr. Striker, I don’t have any for you at the moment. Instead, I would like to have Doctor Morgan join me for a couple of questions.”

You had no idea who Doctor Morgan was, or that she had her mouth hanging open, because your brain was too busy processing what just happened. Sunstreaker just did exactly what he was supposed to, performed with flying colors of red, yellow, and gunmetal gray. He tilted his head your way, radiant eyes hooded with a taunting brow quirked. Everything about him reeked that infuriating cavalier confidence. Did he just play you? Did he have this in the bag the entire time? Did he have to keep you on the _edge of_ _heart-failure on the entire drive here_? _!_

Then, that bastard _winked_ at you. _That smug little jerk_! You wanted to slap that stupid smirk right off his stupid face!

“I might develop a complex if you keep staring like that,” He teased, positively preening, “But I don’t blame you. Looking away can be tough.”

You were screaming on the inside. You slammed your mouth shut and scowled, “You already have a complex. I’m just surprised you were polite for a change.” You eyed Alan deliberately, who jumped at your silent indication.

“Before he fuh-uh-fudges up his first impression, we should go.” He led Sunstreaker by the arm into the facility, calling back to you, “I’ll see you later. Let me know...uh...how your systems are running when you can.”

Then you were alone with the most fear-provoking man in the area. Agent Simmons watched them leave, chuckling in a way that set you on high alert, “If I didn’t know any better, I would call that kind of behavior inappropriate.”

His actions were calm and friendly, but his words turned your nervous sweat into nibbling ants, “In-inappropriate? What was?”

His eyes reminded you of a dark pit. You could barely discern the pupil from the dark-brown iris. For lack of better terms, it was disturbing, like something was watching you from that black hole and it would eventually crawl out. If everything had gone right, you wouldn’t have viewed this person as a boogeyman.

Agent Simmons had this warmth that felt like a slimy coating. _A disguise_. You felt pressed under the lens, pinned against the stage of a microscope. You were being studied and _hunted_. You had no choice but to follow when he gestured you along. “Is he usually so... _relaxed_ with a superior?”

You fixated ahead, trying your best not to turn those wide owl-eyes on him. You peeped out in the tiniest of voices, “I don’t mind. We’re friends.”

“Oh, I meant with me. He was very relaxed with _me_ ,” He corrected you, and added, “It was almost disrespectful, how he never once addressed me as _Sir._ ”

Your timidness was suddenly overwhelmed with spite. Here you were, worried that Sunstreaker was in trouble for going a little too far with his comments – _practically flirting_ – and this young man was concerned with not being called _Sir_? If his ego was as fragile as he was coming off, he wouldn’t be able to stand a _day_ in your shoes, having to wear a toucher skin to stave off the comments and slights you had to endure.

Agent Simmons jogged ahead to get the door for you, and you nodded your thanks, focusing everything on putting one foot in front of the other. You wrapped yourself in the skin of the professional Scientist, transforming your shuffling little steps to a confident gate and letting that spite cement your spine straight. You wanted him to know the kind of woman you were with your squared shoulders and head held high, and you even risked prodding that ego of his. “The tech team is filled with the unruly kind. We don’t let it get to us.”

“I was just saying. Nothing to be upset about,” Agent Simmons had a weak laugh. “You said you were friends with that blond guy? Does he talk to you like that, often? You seemed a little shocked.”

Any fear you had was becoming an itching irritation, like the tag on the collar of your shirt. You didn’t like how familiar he was towards you. His smile looked practiced. You effortlessly kept that ice-queen front. “He thinks he’s being funny, trying to throw me off balance. I apologize if he made you uncomfortable. I’ll address it next time–"

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want his record dinged over a silly report of misconduct. You know what they say, _boys will be boys_. It was all in good fun.”

And it was _that_ attitude that made reporting anyone over inappropriate behavior seem useless. You glared ahead, working your jaw.

“So I take it you two are not an item.”

Your head turned so fast it chipped at the Agent’s cool demeanor, swaying from you for only a moment. Your brows screwed together, because what an odd thing for an investigative agent to ask. Maybe he was evaluating why Sunstreaker seemed so comfortable – and then it hit you. That smug moron! _That asshole_! It hit you so hard, you tripped on your own _fucking_ shoe and your hands flailed out like a bird shot from the sky.

Agent Simmons caught you, holding your shoulders as you tried to regain your balance, “Are you alright?”

Inwardly, you panicked, ignoring the curious smile of the most frightening man to date. He was dangerously fixated on Sunstreaker, and you had to do everything you could to redirect him. Whether he was probing or not, he read people for a living. He expected fear, nervousness, and worry in all its physical forms. Sunstreaker displayed a charming confidence, arrogance, and calm. _Just like that serial killer from the mid-seventies_. The Autobot unknowingly ticked off several red flags of narcissism and psychopathy for the agent, and there would be more based on your responses.

You nodded, “Yes, sorry. That question took me by surprise. Ah, no. No, we’re just friends.”

“So he’s always this peculiar?” He stopped by an office he must have commandeered from some poor department head. Within, a few similarly dressed agents looked your way, layering on the pressure.

With a deep breath, you barreled through the words like a linebacker, “A lot of us are a little peculiar. We’re just a family of quirky science geeks that love what we do more than-than doing what normal people do. We might tick a few boxes in your column of strange behaviors, but I assure you, we-we’re harmless.”

You only staggered over a few words, but you managed to pull a delighted smirk from Simmons. He leaned against the doorframe, and casually swiped his suit-jacket back, brandishing his sidearm holstered at his hip. “I never said I worried for my safety.”

Whether it was insecurity or intimidation, you were not impressed. Bluestreak had _missiles_ on his shoulders and he had a rifle as long as a bus. A dinky little pistol neither daunted nor unsettled you, but it did concern you. You tried to diffuse whatever this display was with humor, “You haven’t seen the break-room fridge.”

Agent Simmons laughed at that – a _real_ laugh, “You’re funny, Eva. Mind if call you Eva?”

You minded. You _definitely_ minded. This man was no friend and had not earned such familiarity with you. He needed to remember who you were, _what you were_ , and he needed to respect your title. You, the proud Medical Scientist, nodded, “If you don’t mind –"

“Oh no, I don’t. Formality can be a little tiring. Just call me Seymour.”

If you weren't trying to hide your criminal acts, you would have put him in his place, and you would have done so fearlessly. You had _tssk_ ed at Prowl for silence, mind you. Grudgingly, you smiled, but at this point, you could have been just baring your teeth. “I agree.”

“I mean, your friends call you by your name.”

Keyword: _friends_.

“I would like us to be friends. Let’s work together, make it easier for me to wrap up my report on what happened here.”

Why _you_? You were just – according to Doctor Arkeville – a scientist studying the effects of energon on _just_ mice and keeping tabs on the workers who were regularly exposed, _and nothing else_. Also, this whole approach of _let's be friends_ was a poor tactic you’ve seen in enough buddy-cop movies. Did he think you were naïve or stupid? It wouldn’t be the first time you were underestimated, as if you _didn’t_ earn this degree with your brain. 

“I’d be happy to,” You said compliantly, “Would you like to get started reviewing my department and me?”

His posture changed, and that relaxed lean against the doorway vanished in favor for a nervous shifting of his stance. You noted how that cool gaze flitted from yours, and you didn’t quite understand that tense smile that grew and waned with each word. “I haven’t quite made it to your stack of files. I wanted to offer coffee, if you needed any.”

“I’m fine, I had a cup this morning,” You responded absently, inwardly scoffing, _then why invite me for questions if you’re not even at my file._ _Unorganized._ Did this fresh-faced agent think this was a game? That he could just put off his work? You added, “You sound like you’ll be a little busy. I won’t keep you. Please, if you have any questions, I’ll make the time.”

Agent Simmons cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. He fixed those black-hole eyes on you, “If I don’t have any questions, could I still have some of your time?”

What more does this man want?! You already said you’d help; did he want you to conduct the entire investigation for him? You reined back that leadership role that wanted to scold him, and you nodded amenably, “I’m available all day if you need any help, of course.”

He had a puzzled frown, studying you. You noticed he continuously checked your hands. Was he trying to catch you trembling? Picking? Any little movements to betray your guilt? You stood there awkwardly for a long moment, waiting for him to say something or dismiss you.

You took a leap and decided to dismiss yourself, careful to keep things light-hearted. “I should get going. I have a full desk waiting for me, as do you. As a Doctor, I recommend plenty of breaks to prevent burnout. Rest your eyes often, and don’t forget the basics of drinking and eating. You’d be surprised how many of us forget.”

His smile returned, and there was something about it that turned your stomach. “Forgetting to eat? Are you speaking from experience?”

“Mmmhmm,” You hummed, turning your side to him and held your left hand up in a brief wave. You didn’t like how his eyes were drawn to your fingers.

“Then I think I should make sure you eat today. Let me get you lunch.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. My assistant handles that,” You began stepping away, annoyed. Was it so hard to imagine that you knew how to feed yourself? Unable to keep the huff of irritation from your departing words, you threw over your shoulder, “Take care and have a good day.”

“Eva,” He called out after you, and you turned quickly. Something about how he said your name with this new strength had your heart flutter against your ribcage like a dying canary. He was impending your exit and triggered a rabbit-fear. All you could think about was running.

Agent Simmons held out his hands in the offer that you had no choice but to take. “Let me be forward. I’m going to have lunch with you at noon. Be ready.”

You unconsciously put your weight on the balls of your feet, but you had nowhere to run. Your voice cracked as you peeped, “okay.”

~*~

It’s been a long while since you were courted. Sure, you’ve been the willing victim of alien flirting, but that was different. Jazz made it stupidly obvious, and he also made the space around you safe. This did not feel safe. This felt hostile. You felt _trapped_. You were oblivious to a man’s advancements, a man who continuously checked for a ring on your finger, a man who thought you were playing _hard-to-get_. You thought you had a decent grasp of the situation between you and that agent – but you were _wrong_. You were sick and tired of being _wrong_.

You hid away in the empty patient room Sunstreaker was originally housed in with both him and Alan. The tech was still pacing back and forth, palm pressing on his temple as he finished processing everything you told him.

“I said you can't seduce your way out of a wet paper bag. That wasn’t a challenge!” He finally held still, pressing his hands over his eyes and arching his back with the most dramatic of groans – as if _he_ was the victim. “What the _hell_ did you do?”

“I didn’t do a damn thing!” You defended yourself.

“Y’musta done _something_ ,” He waved his hand up and down your features, “You’re about as interesting as a thumbtack! You’re only good for pranks and holding shit together.”

“I know!” Your pealed voice was edged with panic, “I don’t know what I did, or what I said, or _anything_. It happened so fast, I didn’t even know what was going on.”

Alan pressed a fist to his lips in thought, “Did you smile too much? Giggle? Twirl your hair?”

“This isn’t _fucking_ grade school!” You whined, digging your fingers through your neatly combed-back scalp, turning your hair-bun into a scraggily mess. “I didn’t – I wasn’t – I didn’t _do_ anything! I was _nice_ , I was _professional_. I didn’t think anything he was saying was a come-on. He was asking questions, I thought he was probing me for information.”

“Oh, he wants to probe you, alright.” He couldn’t resist such an easy mark.

That pulled a snort from Sunstreaker, watching this whole thing from the side of the room. You turned on him so fast, “Don’t you even, I swear to God! _You_ – I have so much to say to you.”

The blond rolled his eyes, “Of _course_ you do.”

“First, you give me a panic attack on the drive here, acting like you don’t get how serious this is. Then, you just deliver everything to the agent like nothing was ever wrong. What the _hell_ was that?”

“ _Ooh_ I understood what was happening, but you were making it so complicated.” He pointed at Alan, “But he made the most sense. This is an infiltration job.”

The tattooed tech smugly shrugged, “You gotta learn how to talk to the bots, doc.”

You ripped out the pen holding your hair, aiming it at Alan, “I will slap that look off your face.” Then you turned and jabbed it at Sunstreaker, “Well guess what? Your act was too convincing. Simmons had you in his sights, he might still, but I tried to explain you’re just a cocky jerk.”

He pushed himself from the counter to step up to you, arms out wide, “ _Too_ convincing?”

Alan also seemed a little confused, but most of his attention was on the Autobot’s growing irritation. He edged a little closer, eyes on the hostile party.

You bobbed your head considerably to get your point across, “ _Yes_. You see, humans do this thing where they show fear and anxiety in intense situations. They have a body language that displays an array of behaviors, and Simmons is an expert at reading people. You were confident and way too smooth for someone who came face to face with an agent that could lock them away for _looking_ guilty.”

Sunstreaker huffed as he returned to leaning on the counter, “I'm not afraid of him.”

“You should be!” You nearly yelled, closing the distance, “He can lock us up in prison and I would never know what happened to you. Don’t you understand? He can take you away from me and I will never see you again.”

He stared at you, his scowl slowly fading to something a little more reserved. Even slightly embarrassed. You witnessed that uncomfortable shrug to his shoulders as he crossed his arms a little tighter around himself. “They’ll take you away, too.”

“Yeah,” You breathed a sharp confirmation.

“And,” His eyes flitted from yours, “And I would never see _you_ again.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” You let him work through whatever was rattling in that commandeered brain of his. You gave it enough time before adding, “And I know what you’re thinking, and no. This isn’t about Henri and me being terrified of losing him. This is about _you_.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Sunstreaker muttered.

“Hey, this isn’t just about you two”

You turned to look at Alan, and the air around him stilled. He had that serious glare, and the tone he took made gravity a little heavier. “We have teams of people caught in this shit-storm – _good people_. People who know this asshole doesn’t deserve what has happened, and what _will_ happen if those fucks get their hands on him. People who stand behind you, people who don’t want you to be blamed for the bullshit Ivan stirred up.”

He leaned in, but it did nothing to shrink his visage, turning more of his attention to Sunstreaker “But this goes even further down the rabbit hole. If Big Brother gets a hold of you, we don’t know what will happen. Do you think your people will stand around and negotiate for your release? Maybe at first, but not for too long while you go under some Frankenstein shit. This could cause a war. People and bots could die.”

Alan let that sit for a bit as you and Sunstreaker met eyes. _This could cause a war_.

The tech started for the door, “Sunstreaker, get serious and lay low. Stop being a little shit and start helping. Evalyn, do what you can to get that cock-stain off your scent and do your damn job. I’m going to get on ass-face Arkeville and make sure he’s calling around for your shit. Get to work, both of you.”

With that, he left. You stood there as the door hissed, clicking softly as it closed. You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, swaying some as the room tilted ever so slightly. You turned away from Sunstreaker and braced yourself against the wall, trying to recover.

When Alan spoke, _really_ spoke, it floored you. You felt like he just flooded the room with sand, adding to the weight that was already suffocating you. How many more people, other than your team, were at risk? This would cause a diplomatic incident if they – or you - were ever discovered, but _war_? Death? Your breath quickened, _My God, he’s right. People could die._

You jumped and gasped sharply as you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning in time to see Sunstreaker retract. You blinked, eyes darting from that hand that hung in the air, to where he touched. Eventually, he just posted up beside you, leaning against the wall. He said nothing, snide or otherwise. It was a strange thing, that he let this moment remain quiet, letting you recover from whatever wrecking-ball that cracked a little more of your foundation. After a time, you found your voice, “I’m going to be busy all day. I’ll call Holly and she’ll keep you hidden away while I start a few dummy experiments to throw off the investigation.”

“Slag, not _her_ ,” He grumbled.

“Then...then I guess I’m having lunch with Agent Simmons.”

Sunstreaker's face flashed with something that was not quite anger, but close enough. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the feeling, but his tone insisted on carrying it, “Do you even _want_ to?”

“What do _you_ think?” You snapped back with the same amount of intensity.

He snorted, “I don’t know the courting rituals of organics.”

“Good, because they’re stupid,” That could have came out a little more mature than you intended, but you rolled with it, “Did he even ask me if I was busy? Or if I even wanted to? No. I don’t want to waste time chatting while I could be working on you. What the hell are we going to be talking about? I bet what he knows about biology could fit on the tip of my pinky finger. I get more talking to _Alan_ , for Christ’s sake.”

“That’s saying something,” He had a little sigh of relief, but he continued to drill you, “So, this was not your intention? You’re not attracted to that kind of fleshling? I mean, he seems much more physically superior than _this_ meatsack.”

Your brows touched your hairline, “I am trying my best to not be offended. I am trying my best to be patient with you. I am _trying_ my _best_ not to _scream_.”

“So that’s a no.”

“I am _trying_ , Sunny!” You growled from between your teeth, “Why are you asking me these things!?”

Sunstreaker’s face scrunched up, offended, “I think I have a right to know if you’re going to neglect me over some dumb organic mating ritual. I don’t know if your kind is as fickle as everyone makes you all out to be.”

“I am _not_ fickle, and trust me, I couldn’t forget you even if I tried,” You sneered.

“I said _neglect_. I know I’m unforgettable,” He rolled his eyes, and your jaw nearly dropped because this narcissist was _serious_. He waved a dismissive hand, “Why didn’t you turn down his forced invitation if you didn’t want to refuel with him?”

You knew why you didn’t, but would Sunstreaker understand? You were embarrassed. You were _afraid._ “I was caught off guard. I...usually pride myself for thinking on my feet, but at that moment...I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. I froze.”

He leaned in a little more, lowering his head, “Sounds normal to me. I’ve seen even the most hardened of warriors lock up.”

“Have you?”

“What? Oh no. No. Never me,” He had a smooth chuckle you’ve never heard from Henri’s vocal cords before. He lost that accusatory edge to his voice, and sounded almost gentle, “Why don’t you just tell that lesser fleshbag _no_?”

“And risk the wrath of a snubbed agent? What if he retaliates? He could get pissed and find _any_ reason to stick me in a holding cell.” You hugged yourself, rubbing your arms, “He shouldn’t be fraternizing anyways, not with his position of power. It’s unprofessional and _wrong_. The only thing I can hope for is that he’ll get bored if I start reciting the sequential metabolic phases as a means to optimize cellular –"

“Well would you look at that, I’m already bored,” Sunstreaker teased, elbowing you, “Or you could start bossing him around. _I_ find it irritating, maybe he would, too.”

“Yeah, I’ll start carrying my blood-draw kit wherever I go,” You laughed, but it sounded sad. Sad, weak and tired.

He pursed lips with a thought, “You look like you need to get out. Let’s call Sideswipe and go for a ride in the hills.”

“I just got here,” You whined pitifully, “I can't. I have so much work I need to hurry up and do before I get called to the gallows. Maybe I can shift his focus on another female staff. There are plenty of other girls here, prettier ones. _Willing_ ones.”

“But there's only one of you.”

“I wish there were more. Maybe I would actually get things done and get you back into your body,” You grumbled, “I should get going. Wait here while I call Holly. Please behave.”

He tilted his head haughtily, “No promises.”

While that used to infuriate you, you found yourself patiently smiling, “I’ll see you later.” And you stepped out of the room, the door closing as you continued on your way. You started down the hall, picking up a phone terminal around the corner and dialed your assistant’s pager. 

You blinked, distant words coming back to distract you for only a fleeting moment.

_But there's only one of you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **** “Something tells me Prowl already made plans for exactly that.” *****
> 
> Prowl experienced a sudden purge to his ventilations, expelling whatever foreign body must have sucked into his nasal unit. He hated this planet and every little thing that crawled on it.   
> "Bless you!" Bluestreak popped his head in his office.  
> "What?"  
> "It's a thing some humans say when they experience a 'sneeze'," The wholesome Autobot explained, "And there's this unexplained theory that this occurs when someone says your designation when you're not present to hear it."  
> "We don't 'sneeze'," Prowl grumbled, waving him away, "and that sounds absolutely ridiculous. Get out of my office, I'm busy."  
> Bluestreak sulked away.  
> Prowl went back to his digital blueprints of the area and continued to triple check all surveillance points around the perimeter, plotting multiple strike points, ways to disable communications to the outside world, and the best way to disarm the humans you called 'Agents' with minimal casualties.  
> If you'd ever happen upon his notes, he would tell you it was a hobby of his to plan hostile takeovers.


	14. Ever-Evolving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue to fight on all fronts. Where you find your victories, though, is only a matter of perspective. Or are you ever the unreliable narrator, as you usually are?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I come back and find so much love!!!! Thank you so much for all your kind words and support. I am absolutely rocked to the core and I would commit misdemeanors for every one of you. Or make you a nice snack. I think a little snack is acceptable. 
> 
> Let's begin with a little fact I found while researching women in medicine:  
> From 1930 to 1970, a period of 40 years, about 14,000 women graduated from medical school. From 1970 to 1980, a period of 10 years, over 20,000 women graduated from medical school. This increase of women in the medical field was due to both political and cultural changes. Two laws in the US lifted restrictions for women in the medical field (Higher Education Act Amendments of 1972 and the Public Health Service Act of 1975) banning discrimination on grounds of gender. In November 1970, the Assembly of the Association of American Medical Colleges rallied for equal rights in the medical field.

Three days felt like three agonizing years. Different parts of the facility had its own pocket dimensions of altered time. Within your lab and office, hours became minutes as you poured over strings of data, switching gears of trying to find _why_ your patient became animated, to _how_ to reverse the process without killing both your beloved Henri and your bemoaned Sunstreaker. To recreate the entire incident seemed farfetched and desperate, but you became the very embodiment of _desperate_.

Three whole days, and Government Investigator Seymour Simmons never grew bored of you.

He visited you frequently, as if you had nothing else to work on – as if _he_ had nothing else to work on. That’s when time began to slow, prolonging the plastic smile that hurt your cheeks. You did your best to drive him off when you shared with him the life cycle of the common cold virus, but that backfired in the worst way. Agent Simmons started explaining to you – _a medical professional_ – what you should do to ride out a cold. Sunstreaker’s offer to convince Prowl to take over the area never seemed so sweet. If only the Commander would respond to your updates, you might actually start thinking of ways to broach the subject.

And then there was _that_ strange anomaly of the alien living in your apartment. You would expect fighting, bickering, nagging and maybe the occasional throwing of hands, but no. Those nights let you put yourself together, having a sub-par dinner while having somewhat civil discussions with Sunstreaker. He was amicable, to a point. He would ask curious little questions veiled in frustration when it came to human culture. Television only fanned his ire, but it eventually smoothed to humorous and witty commentary that you found yourself enjoying. It was different when he started asking for your opinions on things. Sometimes, it was nice to talk about nothing.

You didn’t know what to call the kind of relationship it was between you and Sunstreaker. You weren’t friends, but there was more than just that doctor-patient bond. Something was growing, just a mote of an indiscernible feeling that had no name or form. You cared, of course you did, you were his caretaker. You were also the only person he could talk to normally. You chalked up this sentiment as some ingrained feelings for your fiancé bubbling about, because how else would you feel looking at Henri’s face every day and it not be your love looking back? You ignored this fleck of guilt that followed, because more and more you saw less and less of your fiancé in that face.

After the speedy morning of day four whipped by, you found yourself pressed once again to sit and have lunch with your biggest fan. Agent Simmons wasn’t terrible to look at with that strong chin and a defined jawline. He was tall, and under that suit, you were sure he was fit, so as a male specimen, you could deem him as attractive – but you didn’t fall in love based on looks alone. You were sure, in some circles, Simmons was charming with how he had an opinion on everything and loved to discuss them at _great_ length. He was a worldly man, mildly intelligent, and had a penchant for going off on tangents before getting to the point of his original topic. Seconds became decades.

You were sure there were some people on this earth that would listen with rapt delight, and not want to get a word in edgewise. You were _sure_ there were people who liked that this man had opinions on other’s opinions, and had an air of superiority about it. _You were sure_ there were a self-loathing group of people who enjoyed being interrupted and talked over and relished in having their sentences finished for them. 

You _hated_ this man beyond the fact that he could ruin your world in an instant. 

There was finally a break in the rain, but the air still held onto the humidity that made your clothes retain that chilling dampness. You cursed the bright autumn sun as you sat with Agent Simmons at one of the many benches set up outside the facility because it was _a beautiful day to enjoy the weather and relax_. You impatiently chewed your peanut butter sandwich and bit your cheek. You resisted the urge to throw a scowl his way. It was _cold_. You hated it. You hated _him_. You had better things to do, and now your cheek throbbed. It was all his fault.

Agent Simmons turned to you with a genuine smile as he swallowed down his beet and orange salad. “You sure you don’t want a bite? The dressing is an olive oil-vermouth blend with Tuscany herbs and spices. Very complex. You should try it.”

You didn’t understand why he had this need to justify his palate. Every time you ate with him, he had something so unreasonably fancy, and he just _had_ to share it. Besides, _who ate a cold salad in this weather?_ You feigned a smile, “No thank you. Again, I’m fine.”

“But you hardly ate anything.”

You always ate small throughout the day, and always over work. In this instance, it was a peanut butter sandwich today. Holly was doing a bang-up job at packing the most off-putting lunches. Yesterday, it was eggs and raw broccoli. Sunstreaker held his nose and gave you the thumbs up that day. That image had you smiling to yourself for the hours that felt like years.

“I’m not that hungry.”

“You must be feeling a little anxious.”

You didn’t disagree. Your body language must be telling him volumes of your discomfort. But still, must he _tell_ you what you’re feeling, and not just simply _ask_? You told half-truths, leaving out how it was starting to worry you that Prowl wasn’t responding to your messages. You needed to find a way to communicate with another brilliant mind, such as Jetfire. 

“My work is piling up. I have so many reports to go through,” You weren't sure if you had any tells while lying, but this technically wasn’t a lie. He never gave any indication he was suspicious of you, but you had been wrong about him, before. “I know coming out here for lunch is supposed to be relaxing, but being so _busy_ spoils it.”

You had no confidence he would catch on to your subtly. Either he was too stupid, or he ignored these obvious hints that you were _unavailable_. Agent Simmons gave a soft smile, setting aside his food, “You really need to learn how to delegate work to your nurses. I found, no matter how much work I have, it’s important to set aside time for yourself.”

You could have chomped off a chunk of your tongue and swallowed it. Your team consisted of specialists, _not_ nurses, and you delegated work just fine. You wished you actually bit your tongue as you blurted, “The time I would set aside for myself is being set aside for _you_ , though.”

Your jaw clicked shut as you turned stone-faced. Agent Simmons angled his head, his black-hole eyes bouncing between yours as his smile fell. You waited to hear what this man sounded like when he was slighted.

“Is that so bad?”

_Yes!_ You wanted to scream. You had the rare instance of actually answering a question, and while trying to reign in that bit of irritation sharpening your tone, you went for it, “Depends. Is this part of your investigation?”

“For the most part, yes.”

Your brows pinched together, not liking that strangely playful glint to his eye, like a cat playing with their food. You drew in a slow breath, preparing yourself to get up and retreat inside the facility and perhaps hide within a supply closet. “Well then, it looks like neither of us is comfortable enough to step away from our work. With that said, I should go –"

“I didn’t say I was investigating you for work.” He gave a cool little flash of perfect white teeth, held your gaze for a dashing moment, and then turned to pack up the remnants of his lunch.

You cringed. _Of course_ he would treat this exchange as flirty banter. _Great_. You washed down the last bite of your sandwich with black coffee, solidifying that less-than-flattering shield that was your breath. As it seemed the break was over, you stood and brushed off the crumbs from your lap.

“Oh, take a seat, Miss Morgan. You have time to spare.” He turned back your way, his smile handsome – or it would be if you weren’t so offended that he rarely called you _Doctor_. He patted the space beside him, adding, “With all your lab-rats dead, what else do you have to work on?”

It was hard to be a laboratory studying the effects of energon exposure when you no longer had live organisms to experiment on, so the story of all your electrical equipment frying from the explosion also somehow electrocuted these _“mice”_ to death. You didn’t want Agent Simmons looking too closely into your current job description, so you sat compliantly and attempted to redirect in your favor.

“Are we talking about work, now? That’s hardly fair since you can't share much with me on what you’re working on.” As the words left your mouth, this lightbulb grew brighter and brighter. Why didn’t you think of this before? For someone who loves to talk, why couldn’t you get him to start chatting about his investigation? You swallowed down your dignity and cocked your head with a little smile, “It’s hard not to think that these little lunches are on record, _Investigator_.”

Agent Simmons blinked, gaze flitting off to the side in a nervous thought that nearly had you panicking. He took a slow breath and spoke with a gentleness that did nothing to soothe you. “That explains why you’re nervous all the time. Would it make you feel better if I said that I finished reviewing the files on your team days ago?”

“Really?”

“And we’ve found no discrepancies with your department, or anything having to do with the explosion,” He explained, “There were a few questions with the equipment your laboratory was using, but Doctor Arkeville cleared that all up. Turns out, there was a bit of negligence on administration’s end, but I decided to let that slide. We have other departments to review, and I’m not about to waste time tripping you up over some paperwork”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the bench, leaning forward with a dangerous sway. The only thing that held you up was the toothpick fragility of your arms. Your department _cleared_ his scrutiny. Did you _actually_ succeed in fooling a government investigative agent? Did the falsified data throw them off? Were you in the clear? You _were_. Your team was safe. _You_ were safe. _For the most part_.

“So, that said, you can be a little more comfortable around me,” He concluded, “I meet a lot of people on the job, but I have to admit, I don’t meet many interesting women like yourself.”

You dare him to spout one fact about you because all he’d done was talk about himself. Did he find people interesting when they were held captive, forced to listen to him drone on and on, and try his ridiculous snacks? Your nostrils flared, “And how am I interesting?”

Agent Simmons waved his hand, “Look at you. A lady doctor. You just don’t become a doctor overnight. Your dad must have opened a lot of doors for you.”

If that was the only thing he found intriguing, you would have to work much harder to become even _more_ one dimensional. There was some truth with your dad being involved, but he didn’t take those college exams for you. That was _all_ you. At the mention of your father, you drew in a leveling breath. He still had a lot to answer for, and he was still comatose. He was alive, at least. 

The agent had a cock-eyed grin as he casually crossed his arms. “All you’ve talked about it your work, you must like other things. Do you watch television? Listen to the radio? Tell me something you like. It’s knitting, isn’t it?”

You tried to learn knitting, once. You successfully made a giant knot for the neighbor’s cat to play with. You actually thought of the things you liked and had a hard time remembering when you seized those infrequent moments to enjoy them. Then, your mind flitted to the last time Bluestreak took you for a drive, and you were filled with fondness and longing. If felt like eons since you had that twisted sense of comfort and distraction. You didn’t mean to absently answer, “The Cybertronians.”

“The NBEs?” Agent Simmons’ surprised reaction woke you from your micro-nap dream. 

Oh. _Ooh_. Your admirer seemed a little put-off by your answer. You were on that scent like a starved Bloodhound, turning in your seat to face him fully. “Oh yes. Have you met one? Like _really_ met one? My favorite part of being stationed here is having the ability to converse with them regularly. Have you ever seen one transform?”

“I...uh, no.” His eyes flicked past you, searching for a way out, “I’ve been briefed since your facility works so closely with them, but my interactions have been short.”

You were prepared to make those fainting girls at those sold-out Michael Jackson concerts seem like casual fans, because you were about to give him your over-the-top, moon-eyed, passionate speeches that would shame any cult-leader behind a podium. You began with a deep, wistful breath, “They are marvelous. To change shape at will, to choose their bodies, both their vehicle and their bipedal – isn’t it marvelous? To watch their gears and plates shift, working together in this symphony of mechanical wonder, coming together perfectly _each time_!”

You went a little theatrical as your hand fluttered over your heart, sighing like a maiden waiting for her lover to return from battle – but honestly, _you didn’t have to try hard_. You called it a scientific curiosity, but it was more like a scientific _crush_ , but who could blame you? These aliens broke all the basic rules of biology and you _loved it_. You greedily took in Agent Simmons’ uncomfortable shifting of his posture. _Good_. Maybe, you were going about this the wrong way, before. Maybe, you should act a little spacey instead of uninteresting. Time to initiate the full breadth of your weirdest, geekiest, obsessive side.

He opened his mouth, his hand coming up to make a point, but you would cut him off. You would talk above him with the fervor of your strong judgments and see how _he_ likes it. “Think about it! Our biological makeup comes together and gives us life, but does it give us our personalities? Our preferences? Culture and emotion and tradition? Our brains fire neurons at a rapid pace, giving us means of mobility, to communicate, to differentiate smells and taste. This is normal for us, and we are organic – but they are not. They are purely autonomous, sentient life forms based on machinery and technology far surpassing our own – but how similar they are to us! Don’t you find that just _fascinating_?”

Investigator Simmons gave a chuckle, glancing past you again, “I, uh, suppose, but –"

He was looking for a way out, and you fully intended on making him run for it. _Drive him to the God-Damn hills._ You huffed out a girlish giggle, “I’m absolutely charmed by the alien race, honestly. There is just something about them, I want to get inside and find what makes them _them_. They have their own individualistic drive, just like us. They have ambitions and interests, they feel love and sadness and fear and everything in between, _just like us._ I want to learn about their culture, their history, anything I can. They are a _beautiful_ race, and I have to admit, I do have a little thing for sports cars.”

“Do you, now?”

_Oh god no_. You recognized that teasing drawl, twisting to glance at Sunstreaker casually leaning against the wall behind you. You whipped back at Agent Simmons, glaring accusingly, “How long has he been there?”

“Since you started talking,” He said, somewhat apologetically, “You wouldn’t give me a chance to say anything. I was trying to tell you, but you were on a roll.”

Was this the definition of _irony_? One thing was for sure, you were _wrong_. What you interpreted of the man looking for a way out of your manic description was actually him regarding your new audience. _Why were you bad at this?_ You felt yourself pale. Out of everyone who could hear your passionate admission, it just had to be Sunstreaker. Preening, narcissistic, better-than-everyone _Sunstreaker_.

“Do you need me for something, Mr. Striker?” Agent Simmons asked.

“I’m actually here to retrieve her,” Sunstreaker said so indifferently, you watched those black-hole eyes fasten guardedly.

“What do you need her for?”

That struck a nerve. Your lips opened in wordless offense, narrowed eyes darting between him and Sunstreaker. Whatever it was, it was not the agent’s business, investigative or not. The blond never took his glare off him as you stood and started walking. “Duty calls, Agent Simmons. Back to work.”

“Oh yes, I understand, but I’m curious.” He also rose to his feet, never breaking this stare down, “Why are _you_ the one retrieving her, and not her assistant?”

Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his puffed chest, “Does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” You said strongly, flanking your patient. “Excuse us, Investigator.”

“A moment,” His words alone kept you hostage, “humor me. What do you need Miss Morgan for?”

You felt the anger flare from the Autobot and mix together with yours. He jutted a thumb back over his shoulder. “Bluestreak is asking for her. Want him to come over _himself_ and ask since it looks like she can't leave without your permission?”

Everything inside you petrified. A large part of you was shocked, yet grateful, at Sunstreaker standing up for you like this. At the same time, did he have to goad the investigative agent looking into the consequences of your _criminal acts!?_

“Bluestreak?” Agent Simmons finally broke eye contact to look at your wide ones.

Those black-hole irises rocked you from your rooted stance, and you slapped your grip on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, turning him around. “Suh-Sorry, I should really get going. I’ve been waiting for, uh, this particular Autobot to escort me to their base to finalize my dissertation on the molecular, ah, conductivity on energon within thenucleiccellsofphotosynthesizedorganisms. Okay, bye!”

You did everything you could to keep from running as your words blurred together, turning sharply around the corner of the building. Sunstreaker wrenched his arm away from you, sputtering a few insults as you continued to push him ahead, glancing over your shoulder to see if the agent would peek at your retreat. When you were far enough away, you relented and slowed your pace, pausing for a moment to exhale a long, groaning sigh.

“What the frag was that all about?” Sunstreaker stopped with you, swinging his arm to gesture back, “Since when does he have a say with who comes and gets you?”

Your noises devolved to whimpers, rubbing your brow, “Just a little longer. Just a little bit longer and he’ll go away.”

He patted you on the shoulder, prompting you to start walking. “That bad, eh? Just tell that slagger to choke on bolts.”

“It’s not that easy,” You hissed between clenched teeth.

Sunstreaker hummed, “Well, if you _like_ him –"

“I don’t! I don’t give a flying _fuck_ if he’s a perfect ten! I don’t _like_ him. I’m not _into_ him. I want to work! Leave me alone and let me do my work.” You sounded like a disgruntled gremlin. The Autobot couldn’t help but laugh at your suffering, and you scowled, “You do realize he’s keeping me from working on _you_. He said he finds me _interesting_ , and because I'm so goddamn _interesting_ , he’s keeping me from fixing _you_.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t get upset. Instead, he carelessly shrugged, “Stop being interesting, then.”

“But I'm _not_ ,” You whined,” I'm a geek that gets excited watching mitosis. I hate places with too many people. I felt bad for the Monster in the Black Lagoon. I –"

“ –Have a thing for sports cars.” He teased, and had this bad-boy, dashing smirk that made this strange, foreign, sensation within you stir. You shoved it down as far as you could reach, choosing to label it as embarrassment before you could actually figure out what it was.

You gave a flustered snort, “You weren't supposed to hear any of that.”

“Why’s that?” He leaned forward, trying to make sure you saw that smug, satisfied grin, “Because I’m the hottest Sportster you’ve ever laid optics on? Go on, you can say it.”

It took a bit, but you’ve accepted that _Yes, Sunstreaker was really this narcissistic._ You rolled your eyes, mocking with a deep falsetto, “I’ve never seen your alt-mode, _duh_.”

He opened his mouth, promptly shutting it as his lips pursed in a brooding pout. He grumbled, “Scrap. You haven’t seen it at all? My first run on this dirt-ball and I don’t think anyone had seen how awesome I am.”

“No, but we all see how full of yourself you are.” Even though you found his preening a little annoying, you couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic huff.

“You’ll see. When you get me back in my body, you’ll see that I was right. I’m no slim and trim gaudy little speedster, I’m so much better,” He shouldered into you, “You could even say _beautiful._ ”

You staggered some from the nudge. “Don’t you dare tease me about how I feel. I'm not ashamed. To learn about another culture is a worthy passion.”

Sunstreaker’s sudden smile was stunning, “Good. I like that you’re interested in my people.”

You were taken aback. You expected more taunting, more insults, anything other than some positive reinforcement. You rounded the back parking lot behind the facility, having a hard time tearing your eyes off of this ever-evolving individual beside you, not sure how to respond to this new concept that Sunstreaker was _being supportive_.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to say a word as he called out to the silver and blue car sitting alone on the pavement, “Blue! Where’s my bro?”

“At our base of operations with...you...” Bluestreak began to transform into his bipedal form, and it was slow, just for _your_ benefit, as your eyes snapped over to take him all in. Metal slabs and parts slid and clinked into place, and you watched with rapture. It’s been so long, and reminiscing recently made you miss it all the more. You chanced a few steps closer as he rose to his full height, even posing with his fists on his hips and a proud smile on those robotic lips. He loved that you were so impressed.

“Huh.”

You were ripped from your haze as you quickly looked over at Sunstreaker. He was watching you, head tilted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The look in his electric blue eyes was indiscernible, but it could have been approval or appreciation. You didn’t observe long enough to figure it out before you sneered, “Not a single word.”

You left him with his conceited smile and turned back to Bluestreak, waving your hand above your head, “Blue! I missed you!”

“I missed you, too!” He knelt down as you trotted up. He held his hand out, and you didn’t hesitate to kneel in his palm, gripping his fingers as you rose to dangerous heights. You missed the feeling of living metal as he cupped his other hand around you, mindful of your balance, bringing you up to tuck you in the crook of his neck like a child nuzzling their favorite stuffed toy.

You let out a squeal of laughter when he pressed you flush against his cheek. You felt the corner of his lip curve up in the sweetest of smiles, and for this moment, everything was fine. Everything was warm with that alien scent of oil and metal and something not of this world. Your troubles faded, and you closed your eyes, listening to the noises of his internal mechanisms at work, and you felt tears well just enough to sting. You wouldn’t fight it if he just whisked you away for a drive to your favorite spot to admire the view.

Bluestreak pulled you away to take you in with those soft blue optics. “I’ve been so worried about you. I was out in the field and Prowl said I’m not allowed to message you – but I always message you! He said you were being investigated and you were in danger and I wanted to see you so bad –"

“I’m okay,” You soothed, reaching out to pat the tip of his nose, “See? I’m just fine.”

“You say that, but any moment your fluid-pump is going to attack you.”

“Again, it’s called a _heart_ , and it’s not going to attack me.”

He peered at you suspiciously despite your reassuring touches. There was something a little bit harder to his tone, “What danger are you in? Is someone threatening you?”

You blinked, “I...I’m okay. Really. I think it’s been handled.”

The hands that held you tightened just a bit, and he held your gaze for a long moment. You stared back, watching that soft marshmallow smile morph to something you were not used to, something sterner and serious, and then back again. His optics brightened a shade and he was back to that light-hearted smile. “Alright, if you say so. If anything goes wrong, I’m here. Don’t forget that.”

Your chuckle came out a little forced, “I won’t, I won’t. Don’t worry.”

You glanced down at the long drop, seeing Sunstreaker watching this exchange with a curious angle to his head. You felt this heat creep on your face, and it was new. You long overcame the feelings of shyness while getting a little more affectionate than you usually would with any other human, even while others watched. You definitely had to conquer your blush when Jazz would so shamelessly address you flirtatiously. You got to a point where the judgment of people rarely mattered, because you endured it for most of your career. You expected it.

But Sunstreaker wasn’t just another person. He was one of _them_.

You squirmed some, muttering your request to be set back down. You avoided the blond’s inquisitive stare as you asked, “Did Prowl send you? He hasn’t been responding to my messages.”

“Yeah, about that,” Bluestreak knelt to get closer to your level, “He hasn’t been able to respond because we’ve been running silent. We just got back.”

“Running silent?” You echoed.

“Infiltration job, really?” Sunstreaker perked up, “Did I miss something good?”

The mech winced, “Depends on the strike team.”

You studied him closely, “Is everything alright?”

“No casualties,” He said quickly, “Just one angry Commander, which is close enough. On that note, he sent me to assess the situation and retrieve you for a debriefing.”

Your brows furrowed as they replayed the words ‘ _assess the situation’_. Alan made it very clear that one of the possibilities included gunfire, should Sunstreaker ever be incarcerated. You read Bluestreak’s face like a seasoned cartographer. “Why can’t Prowl just message me on the private channel he set up?”

“The arm he had that comm. device installed in is currently smooshed.”

Both you and Sunstreaker tripped on absolutely nothing, lurching forward by some invisible blow.

“His arm is _what_!?”

“That’s fraggin’ hilarious!”

The poor mech whimpered, “He’s so mad, he’s already thrown three tables. Jetfire punched him right in the face because one of those tables had all his research –"

“Oh my god,” You gasped, “ _Jetfire_?! My Jetfire? Punched Prowl? _Prowl_?”

“ _Your_ Jetfire?” Sunstreaker quirked a brow.

Bluestreak nodded like a gossipy teen, “Yeah! Half the base saw it!”

“No,” You breathed.

“Yeah,” He repeated, leaning in more and pointing to the side of his face, “Left a nice big dent. Just don’t stare at it for too long. I got double sentry duty just because I just fixated on it.”

“Oh, Blue.”

“I couldn’t look away. I _couldn’t_.”

“Primus, are you two always like this?” Sunstreaker said, “The rust will take us before your vocal units fizzle out. Let’s get a move on.”

Bluestreak glanced between you both, “Um...I was only instructed to bring her.”

“Don’t care. I want to see my body.”

You whirled on him so fast, your legs twisted together and you nearly stumbled, “No, absolutely not.”

His brow raised, “I’m not asking.”

“I’ve noticed, but I’m your doctor.” You stepped up to him, “Seeing your body could have a traumatic effect on you. What if you go into shock? The stress of it could send you into a panic attack, or a seizure, or anything else I can't think of right now.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you thought he uncharacteristically agreed. He shrugged and sucked in a breath, “I guess it’s a good thing you're going to be there.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he turned away, “Let’s go, Blue.”

“But –"

“Now.”

Bluestreak took a moment, rising to his feet and crossing his arms. You’ve never seen this cheerful bot appear so imposing. “Or else what?”

A little spice from your friend had you bite your lip, fighting that giddy giggle. Bluestreak standing up for himself was a _striking_ image. One glance at you, though, and that harsh façade melted to a goofy smile – but with a sound not unlike a cough to clear his vocalizer, he was back to _serious Bluestreak._

“Or else I’ll ask Sideswipe to shove your diodes up your actuator next time you recharge,” Sunstreaker threatened, “or he’ll take your favorite rifles and bend the barrels just a bit so you’ll never shoot straight. I’ll be nice enough and let you choose what you want to happen.”

Your scolding was drowned out by the rapid-fire transformation of the mech. _Serious Bluestreak_ became an _intimidated Bluestreak_. He must really care about his weapons.

This was a bad idea, and somehow you had to convince this stubborn alien the same. You finally moved as he entered the car, catching the door before it closed, “I’m serious, Sunny. You could really...nothing good will come of this. There could be negative effects.”

He turned more towards you, leaning in just enough to make you step back, looking up in those strange alien blue eyes. The corner of his mouth quirked up, “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” You said, “You don’t know how you’ll react – how the human body you’re in will react. You haven’t seen your real body since...since this whole thing happened. We should really take time to gradually introduce –"

“I’m not very good at taking my time, Doc.” His hand came up and rested on yours, his tone lowered to something a bit softer, “I’m not worried. You’ll be there.”

A single butterfly took flight within the confines of your chest. It fluttered gently against the windows of your soul, carrying with it the longings you buried ages ago. You promptly took a flyswatter and slapped it to pieces. You shoved its corpse down in the darkness before experiencing guilt over this forgotten ghost of a feeling. You were grateful when you realized Sunstreaker wasn’t being affectionate, but used this contact to pry your grip from the door.

“I’m sick of sitting around. You’ve hit a wall studying this body, so let’s go look at mine.”

A light bulb flickered in your brain, then fizzled and shorted, “I know nothing about Cybertronians. I wouldn’t even know what I’d be looking at.”

“If _your_ Jetfire isn’t there to answer your questions, I will. Well, I’ll do what I can. I’m no science-bot.” He pulled back with that arrogant grin and cocky attitude, “How could you pass up a chance to study a body as fine as _mine_? Now jump in this scrapheap and get ready, I’m kind of a big deal.”

“Scrapheap? Hey –"

“Fine, but cut it out.” You rounded the car, “You’re acting like you’re better than everyone else. It’s a little annoying.”

You settled in Bluestreak’s vehicle mode, and Sunstreaker looked over with an earnest furrow of his brow, “It’s not an act.”

You weren't surprised that he didn’t laugh at what could have been a clever joke, because he was serious. You snorted an unimpressed huff, reclining back to get comfortable within your friend, falling to silence as Bluestreak took off smoothly. Your gaze eventually fell to the steering wheel that moved on its own, and then fondly on the Autobrand at its center.

Things were working out. Agent Simmons had looked into your department – _the one hiding its illegal human experimentation_ – and found no problems. They would eventually finish up, ruling the explosion as an accident, and move on. Hopefully, the man would leave you alone after your zealous display, and you could get back to helping your friends, then helping your fiancé and father.

_Your friends_. Your fingers found their way to tracing the symbol. There was something to be said when you had a near thirty feet tall metal alien worry so much about you. It’s been a long time since you felt _cared_ for. You smiled to yourself. “And Blue is no scrapheap.”

The speakers hummed around you, “ _Mmm-hmm_ , thank you very much.”

“He is very handsome.”

He sputtered, “What? No, I mean – sure, yeah? You think so?”

“Of course I do,” You chirped, “I always thought you were very well put together.”

That shy laughter was so worth it. You were grinning ear to ear as he tripped over his words, “ _Hnng_ really? Thank you, I mean, so are...you? Can I say that? Your tiny frame is nice. I like it that you can change colors whenever you want with those things called _clothes_. Have I ever told you that? And –and your mane is very neat to watch when it moves around –"

“Hair,” you corrected.

“Hair,” He echoed quickly, “and it’s like a magic trick when you transform it up in that little ball, then take it out and it changes shape. And then there's this one thing...”

Bluestreak was now on full speed with that infamous mouth. You let him continue, half listening as you side-eyed a curiously quiet Sunstreaker. You turned fully when you noticed him watching you with the most surprised expression. You blinked for a few beats, whispering, “What?”

“You...nothing. It’s nothing.” He promptly twisted away from you to look out the window. His hands wrung themselves a bit in his lap. He appeared to be a bit unnerved, so you left him alone and eased up on your friendly conversations with Bluestreak. Had you known you would’ve made Sunstreaker uncomfortable, you would have reigned yourself in a bit more.

You would never know, you were as much the ever-evolving individual as he was, and before his eyes you showed a different side of yourself, today.

You weren’t the only one struggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe nearly leaked a little oil when Jetfire came storming up, holding one hefty looking blaster.  
> It was time. This was it. The science-bot has had enough with Prowl and was going to take him out. Sideswipe was prepared to jump out of the murder-walk path until Jetfire thrust the weapon in his hand.  
> It wasn't a blaster. It was a compressor used to drive bolts into a surface.  
> "I have a job for you," Jetfire said very Prime-like, "the fate of all tables, and everything that sits on them, rests on your shoulders."
> 
> *Later*  
> Prowl is grumbling.  
> He swears, if he finds whoever bolted every table-leg down, he will MAKE a table out of their frame and throw THEM around.


	15. Valued Asset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While searching for different options, you're unaware that even at your small size, the massive impression you leave can last for a lifetime - which equals millions of years, depending on the life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY want to write a side fic of Mini-formers fixing up my house because I would rather do that then research which sump pump I should replace my broken one with.   
> Escapism? Naahhh. 
> 
> Again, somehow I am rolling out these pretty chunky chapters. I never intended them to get this long, sooo if I ended up putting too much on your plate, stick it in the fridge for later?
> 
> Anyways, today we're setting them up to knock em down.   
> Enjoy <3

“Well, well, look who it is.”

The digitized voice was youthful and recognizably friendly, accosting you as soon as Bluestreak let you exit from his alt-mode. You turned to the source, your vision raking along the sizable warehouse-esque facility that was only one of their many bases of operations, falling on the open hangar door. Your gleeful greeting turned into bleating concern, “Bumblebee! What happened to you?!”

There stood that shorter, boxy, yellow Autobot with half of his faceplates scorched off, revealing the inner workings underneath. Black touched around the area of his plating where he was missing his arm, and most of his plating curled from his shoulder to his chest. Your eyes couldn’t get any wider, as that sweet face of his smiled, despite it looking more harrowing than comforting.

He beamed, “Aw doc, I didn’t think you would remember me.”

Of course you did. Brief as it was, his polite and kind introduction left a lasting impression when you were getting into the job. It’s been a long while, but you could still remember how the smaller yellow alien moved slowly, held out his hand for you to touch, and consistently wore that safe and encouraging smile.

Now, that smile was marred.

“Bee, your face!” You involuntarily covered your own, and then waved at the missing appendage, “Your arm! You’re supposed to have two!”

“Oh, that! I, uh, took a little damage from an explosion, but I’m fine. Better even, because we got those cons,” He failed to bite back on a grimace, telling you he still felt something akin to pain from his injuries. “We even got data that might tell us what they’re up to. Jetfire is decrypting it now. I’m off duty for repairs, but I can't get back out there...fast...enough...”

Sunstreaker exited the car, and Bumblebee cringed, averting his optics. You turned some to look between the humanized Autobot and his once-teammate, realizing only a select few met with your patient. Bluestreak and Sideswipe struggled, but they behaved the best they could without screaming every time they saw what was once their comrade, was now a tiny organic. Prowl was _Prowl_ , and nothing seemed to affect him. You never saw anyone else face what was obviously a nightmare made real. It made you clench your teeth, anticipating every outcome this could conjure up.

“How are you holding up, ‘Streaker?” Bumblebee asked, having a hard time looking in his direction.

He glowered, “How do you think? I’m small, squishy, slow,” At the sound of Bluestreak transforming, he gesticulated lazily over his shoulder, “I can't do _that_ anymore. It sucks.”

The mech huffed out an awkward chuckle, “I’m sure the science team is dying to interview you on this experience, when-when you get back in your frame, of course.” He paused, trying hard to face him. “You’ll be annoyed by everyone wanting to talk to you, I’m sure.”

“I’m annoyed now. I would rather sit through Ultra Magnus’ Rite of the Autobrand – the _unabridged_ version – several times over before dealing with this slag.”

“Yeesh.”

Noting Bumblebee’s ghastly withdrawal, made you really question who this _Ultra Magnus_ was, and would you ever have the questionable pleasure of meeting him. Sunstreaker motioned you to follow him, barking out to the Autobot as if he was as tall as him, “I want to see my body. Where’s the medic on duty?”

The scout called out from over his shoulder, “Hey Medic! Sunny wants to see you!”

Bluestreak started taking small, careful, steps around you two, “Shouldn’t you see Prowl first?”

“If he’s available right now, then yes.” Similar to the _trust-not-fall_ game you played while these large aliens held you, there was also the _trust-don’t- step-on-me_ game as well. You remained confident as this large mech minded where he placed his feet. “If not, we’ll occupy ourselves till he is.”

The inside of the building had a massively wide floor plan, broken up into rooms with rows of terminals, tall metal containers, machinery of all sorts, and sheet-metal walls. While it wasn’t their main base, it was a hub where many rendezvoused, and where they made themselves accessible to the human military, science, and tech teams within the area.

You’ve been here more than all of your peers, relishing that you had a better rapport with the aliens than most. Granted, the Military units worked much closer with the Autobot soldiers, but you, as part of one of the many Science divisions, made the greater effort to understand them. It earned you those you could call friends, but it also earned you the ire of many of your human associates; that fact lingered in the back of your mind. How many people were saying that about you as this investigation was going on? Did your passion to learn about these mechanical beings truly repel Agent Simmons?

Right now, the human population was gone. Where you were led, the open space that usually held military drills was turned into a triage center where many were being patched up and resting. You jolted some at the sight of so many injured, limbs missing and pink fluid splattering across the floor. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, exhaling between chilled fingers.

“Scrap.” Sunstreaker took in the room, “What in the afterspark happened?”

“Ambush,” Bluestreak muttered, “We got intel of two separate locations. One was a decoy, the other was a trap.”

You twisted to search your friend, “But you’re not hurt.”

“Neither was Sideswipe, Hoist, Inferno, Grapple, and a few others. Our team was the one that was lead to the dummy location,” He said, vocals touching on contrite.

“But we got there just in time to save the day.” On cue, the red mech came swaggering around the corner and brushing the non-existent dirt from his chestplate. “Shoulda been there, Sunny. We busted in, guns blazing, and the look on those con’s faces when we flanked them. It was your kind of fight.”

You ignored the jealous grumbling of your patient, unable to get over that there was actually a fight that _gave Bumblebee half a face_. You weren't naïve enough to believe they never fought, but you never witnessed the aftermath, either. You gave a wide sweep of your arm over the room of injured mechs. “Was anyone gravely hurt? This sounded really serious. Was our military party to this?”

“Relax,” He purred, squatting down to your level, “No one went offline, and the humans suffered minor damages. No casualties on this end.” He grinned, and it reminded you a lot of Sunstreaker’s cockiness. “Don’t you worry. I showed up. The day was saved.”

“ _We_ showed up,” Bluestreak muttered.

“But it was my frag cannon that rescued everyone’s sorry afts.”

“Language,” Your friend admonished with a hiss.

“That’s what it’s _called_. I bust it out, and cons get fragged. _Frag_ _Cannon_.” Sideswipe inclined his head, smirking at you, “In more ways than one. I’ll show you sometime.”

“Charming,” you hummed, rolling your head to the side, looking at Sunstreaker with a quirked brow. He let out a long, irritated sigh.

“Tone it back, bro. I don’t need a reminder that everyone is having fun without me.”

_Having fun_. What happened to all these bots, what happened to Bumblebee, was _fun_? You knew they suffered through millions of years of war, but they called it _fun_? You would never understand the joy of combat, the thrill of firing a weapon, to see your enemies driven before you and hear the lamentation of their women. How was war _fun?_ Now clocking the corrosive nature of energon versus human tissue, and cleaning it off before it starts eating away at you, _that’s_ a rush.

The ultimate high? That was reserved for breakthroughs and successes. You hadn’t experienced that very much. Your head tilted downward, focusing on the chipped concrete floor as those around you continued bickering. You hated it when your joys shifted from being with your loved one to _fixing_ him.

You felt something touch your side, bumping you from your thoughts. You quickly followed the large mechanical hand up to Sideswipe. He shied back slightly at your inadvertent frown, and he appeared to be wrestling with the proper etiquette of how to approach you.

“You okay? You spaced out there for a klik.”

You glanced around, seeing all optics – and eyes – on you. Keeping your internal monologue to yourself, you struggled to clean up your blunder, “I’m fine, just...worried. You worry me.” You stepped closer to his hesitant hand, reaching out and pulling it closer to you, and you didn’t have to fake this genuine concern. “I’m glad everyone is alive and that you are still in one piece, but you need to be more careful. Not just for Sunny, but for me, too. Okay?”

That confident façade faltered, and his optics flickered. He stared at you in this quiet moment, seemingly dumbfounded, like some strange concept was hard for him to grasp. He nodded slowly. “...Okay.”

You were getting the impression he was slow on the uptake, and added, “It would break my heart if anything happened to you.”

Bluestreak gasped, “Your human fluid-pump can _break_ , too?”

The willpower you had to keep from palming your face could generate enough energy to power a small town. You sighed between your teeth, “Sorry, idiom. It means it would make me terribly sad if anything happened to you.”

Those optics of Sideswipe’s brightened a shade, and you felt his fingers twitch just slightly before curling around enough for you to feel. There was a momentary beat of panic, but his next words remedied that. “Yeah, I’ll be more careful, doc. I wouldn’t want to make you sad.”

“Thank you,” You smiled up at him, and found there was this boyish charm when he smiled back.

“Can we _please_ get moving?” Sunstreaker griped. He stormed up and batted his brother’s hand away. You let yourself be turned by the shoulders as he continued, “He’ll brag all day if you let him, and I’m not about to.”

“Hmm, sounds familiar,” You taunted, throwing a glance over your shoulder. You caught a peek of Sunstreaker giving one hell of a glare at his brother, coupled with a threatening point of his finger. Sideswipe threw up his hands in that _backing off_ way, rising to his feet and stepping back. The whole exchange was puzzling.

Sunstreaker turned back to see the inquisitive quirk to your brow. He scowled, “What?”

“You tell me,” You muttered.

He started walking ahead, and with a departing wave to the red gunner, you sidled up alongside your patient, keeping up with his hurried pace.

“Just keepin’ him from being stupid.”

You blinked, “With what? Fighting?”

He side-eyed you briefly, “Uh...sure, yeah.”

Seemed plausible to you; Sideswipe was his brother. Why wouldn’t he get a little stern about his welfare?

Bluestreak took the lead, taking slower, idling steps so you could keep up with your shorter legs. Eventually, you made it to the corner of the vast triage center where the bulk of their medical equipment was set up, looking more like a row of condominiums than computers. There, looking to be in just as poor of shape as many others, Prowl sat as a skeletal build of his arm was getting welded on. His original laid on the floor, a gnarled mess of twisted shrapnel. It made your stomach lurch.

“First Aid,” Bluestreak stepped up to the two, “Sunny and-”

“I heard,” He cut him off abruptly, “I nearly arced off the Commander’s arm because he shrieked across the facility. Who screams _Medic_? People who are dying, that’s who.”

You winced. He wasn’t wrong. You’ve never met this medic that was sent to Earth, but he certainly looked the part with his red and white plating. It was pretty rare when you encountered one that didn’t have that human-like face you relied so heavily on, and they tended to make you a little nervous. You didn’t quite get to know the medics from before – Fixit always seemed a little frantic and all over the place.

“Oh, um, well –"

“I’m in the middle of something. Tell Sunstreaker he can wait.”

“I’ve _been_ waiting!” Sunstreaker snapped, and First Aid jumped. The welder left a jagged burn on Prowl’s shoulder, earning a rumbling growl. Sunstreaker posted front and center, yelling as if he was packing as much weaponry as these mechs.

“And because I have a slagging _nurse_ as a medic, I’ll probably _still_ be waiting! Have you done anything to figure out what’s wrong with me? Or have you been playing at doctor with your little patch-jobs trying to earn your way up the ranks on all four tires?”

_Or have you been playing at doctor_... Everything after that was just static noise, because you were _triggered_. You don’t remember the steps you took, but next thing you knew, you were between him and First Aid. _You were in his face_ and ready to throw down, yelling with the same intensity that had him balk with the sudden shift of events.

“You do _not_ talk to him like that, not while I’m here. I don’t care if you were like this as an Autobot, but you will _not_ act like that as a human under my care.”

“I’m not human,” He snarled, stealing back his pride, “Don’t call me –"

“Whatever form you are, you will not behave so rudely to another medical official – _any official_ – ever. Do you understand?”

He leaned away, crossing his arms stoutly, “I will talk to anyone however I please. Try and stop me.”

You took this too personally, sure. Maybe you saw a bit of yourself in First Aid? There was always a kind kinship between those of the medical field, but yours went deeper than that. You’ve been confused for a nurse before, you’ve been accused of earning your degree by unsavory means, and you’ve heard those deprecating words in a similar degree. Who could blame you for stepping in? In this unintended power-play, you did not falter from that intense alien blue glare. “I fully intend to. You are my patient, and you mouthing off to those who could assist me is counter-productive. Your belligerence could impede my work _on you_ , and I’ll have none of it. I already have an investigation slowing me down. I won’t let you make it worse. Now, do you _understand_?”

Sunstreaker glanced behind you before conceding, reaching up to rub the back of his neck while casting his eyes downward. “Understood.”

You let that tension out in a long breath, “Thank you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” He grumbled, eyeing you from the line of his brow, “Prowl is giving me _that_ look.”

You stole a glimpse from over your shoulder and then turned back immediately. This clammy heat of embarrassment washed over your back as _everyone_ was staring at you. Not just Prowl and First Aid, but the few Autobots that were receiving medical treatment, the ones who were recharging and resupplying before returning to the field, even others joined Sideswipe in poking their heads over and around these impromptu walls to take in the show – _everyone_ was watching _you_.

“Your face is turning that color,” Sunstreaker teased.

You must have been brighter than his brother’s plating. You collected what you could of your dignity and turned back to the medic, unable to meet their optics, “If – if you could point us in the direction of his...body, we will be waiting patiently till you are available, Prowl.” 

First Aid made a noise and rubbed his faceplate. His vocalizer clicked off and on, and you realized he was holding back from _snickering_. He gestured out to the far side of the facility, “He’s stowed back in one of the rooms we’ve converted into life-support, except there is no life to support. I’m at a loss, but check with Jetfire, though he doesn’t know either.”

Sunstreaker shouted, “Seriously?! You have no idea?!”

“I’m a medic!” He snapped back, “Not a scientist. When I looked at your body, all I can figure is that you’re offline – listen, I don’t have time for this. I have bots to _patch up_. Take it up with Jetfire.”

You weren’t getting anywhere. Tensions were understandably high. Sunstreaker wasn’t seeing progress on your end, and to see the same from his own kind? You could imagine why he was at the limits of his patience. You already scolded him once on his conduct, but this was different. This time, it felt a little warranted. You had to remind yourself, he was much more emotionally invested than you were. At least, on the outside.

“Sunny, hey, look at me.” You took to his side closer than you usually would, setting your hand on the back of his shoulder, “Let’s all take a few breaths, here.”

“Cybertronians don’t breathe.” Prowl said, “Sunstreaker, just because you’re no longer a mech doesn’t mean you’re beyond my command. I order you to –"

“ _Tsssk_!” You flicked your hand, much more fearlessly now. You were focused on your patient, and you finally got his full attention, because you _knowingly_ shushed Prowl. _Again_.

The Commander growled out a few syllables of Cybertronian as First Aid practically vibrated with amusement. “Oh, I _like_ her.”

You held Sunstreaker’s gaze. He gritted his teeth, huffing out as much adrenaline that was so unfamiliar to him. You gently turned him to the exit where Sideswipe stood, watching from around the corner. You rubbed his back gently, reassuringly, and could speculate how Sunstreaker felt. It wasn’t just anger. Anger was the result of feeling abandoned. You knew what abandonment felt like.

“Take a walk,” You said, just loud enough for him to hear, “I will handle everything here, and will come to get you, later.”

With one last exhale of angry heat, Sunstreaker stormed away without a word. Quickly, you waved at Bluestreak and Sideswipe to follow and keep him company. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get too rough or forget to mind their feet and step on your patient.

“What have I said about addressing me with that _noise_?”

You turned back to Prowl, ready to square up. You boldly said, “I understand that you’re the Commander here, but I am his doctor. What I’ve said to him applies to everyone. I will not have you undoing what progress I’ve made so far.”

“And what progress is that?”

“He’s stopped threatening my staff,” You said with unwavering confidence, because that was a _tick_ in the win box for you.

Prowl stared, then dipped his head to rub his face with his only working hand. He muttered something to First Aid, who leaned down and offered a hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Doctor Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jetfire, and you’re a lot more _bitey_ than he described.”

It was hard not to envision yourself as a tiny little dog, nipping at the heels of these titans. Reluctantly, you knelt within the palm of this fresh face. “He talks about me?”

“Nothing bad, don’t worry. Except sometimes you hum your vocals when you work,” He boosted you up to the medical slab where Prowl sat, continuing this exchange, “He said that you’re fascinating to talk to, and next time we’re free, I would love to have a chat about –"

Prowl cleared his vocal unit with a loud static cough, cutting the medic off. First Aid shot him a sharp glare before conceding with a parting, “ _another time”_ to you before returning to work. The Commander turned his attention on you, asking a little less brusquely, “Has he been a problem for you?”

You found yourself fixated on First Aid as he picked up a gun-like tool, and resumed repairing the officer’s shoulder. You worked around human bodies enough, how awesome would it be if you could sit in on an alien medic working on one of their own? You had to look away as arc sparks started showering, and realized Prowl had been waiting for your answer. Watching you _patiently_ , in fact, as you were momentarily mesmerized.

“It’s gotten better. We have developed an understanding,” You explained, “On that front, at least. Everything else, not so much. Between the lack of resources and the investigation, things are teetering. Sunstreaker has not experienced another episode in regards of Henri’s consciousness, but who’s to say we’re not sitting on a ticking time-bomb?”

“Agreed,” He shifted some and mindfully set his hand beside you to lean over for First Aid’s benefit. “I was only able to read a few of the reports while in the field and was unable to reply before the comm. device was damaged. I’ll have you turn over your device so Jetfire can re-sync it to my new one.”

You nodded, looking over the triage center again, “I was told no one was seriously injured.”

“Correct.”

You turned back to him, eyeing his frame deliberately. He added, “By our standards.”

“I’m glad everyone’s okay,” You admitted with sincerity, “When I heard you were injured, I was worried. You may be alright by your standards, but not by mine. It’s a little jarring to see you like this.”

“It’s part of the job, Doctor Morgan. I don’t need you fussing over me.”

“Someone should,” You shot back, “You may not treat me kindly like the others, but I would be upset if something happened to you.”

You didn’t mean to blurt out so openly such an admission, but it was honesty. While Prowl was a bastard to you many of your encounters, there was something about his cold, calculating indifference that weaved a bit of steel in your spine at times while facing others. It was easier to slip into the skin of the Scientist with him, to strip all emotion from your innards and nearly pack it all away, and put on your Business Face.

But your Business Face was lost somewhere in the messy pile of your life, and the only face available was the wide-eyed and thin-lipped expression of _what the hell did I say wrong_? Prowl stared with a face that was completely blank and unreadable, his body unmoving and silent as a statue. If it wasn’t for the lights that glowed from different parts of his frame, or that icy blue light of his eyes, you would have assumed he shut down. What kill-switch did you just initiate?

_Gzzzt!_ The officer grunted and straightened as First Aid’s welder nicked something sensitive. The medic sidelined in a whisper, “Say _something_.”

“Right, yes,” He recovered from whatever psychic damage you must have dealt, “I, hmm, _appreciate_ the sentiment, but your concern is not necessary. Moving on to more important issues: these government agents of yours, are they becoming a serious issue? Do I need to order an extraction?”

You let the transition happen, and you shook your head, “Not yet. Sunstreaker is now posing as an employee. He’s not attracting any extra attention.”

“You’re sure of this?”

You cringed a smidge, “Yeah, I'm sure.”

Prowl remained silent, eyeing you with those icicle optics and urging you on because you had the _worst_ poker-face.

“A, ah, certain lead Investigator has taken an... _interest_ in me.” Your eyes darted about nervously, like saying his name would suddenly summon him. Unfortunately, the Autobot didn’t quite understand what you were implying.

“Are you compromised? Do I need to intervene?”

“No, no,” You squirmed, “It’s not like that.” He peered as you struggled to get it all out, “He’s interested in me because I’m a woman, um, female. Not because I'm a suspect.”

“Organic mating rituals,” First Aid surmised as he continued to weld, “Messy business, that.”

Prowl snorted, looking about as disgusted as you felt. “You don’t seem pleased.”

To talk about your borderline harassment with a couple of mechanically based aliens that didn’t reproduce, as your organic biology allowed, seemed on par with trying to explain to a bear why you shaved your armpits. It just wasn’t going to work, but that didn’t stop you from venting.

“I’m _not_. It’s completely unwanted. He’s interrupting my work, and can't take a hint that I’m busy. I’ve tried to be as off-putting as possible, but he’s got this fixation he just won’t break. It’s a difficult spot. He’s got the means to make my life hell. Rejecting him bluntly has me worried about the repercussions.”

First Aid paused from his work to regard you from the corner of his visor. Prowl tilted his head just enough, and you witnessed the moment when he _understood_. His lips curled in a grimace, “A superior officer is using his position to corner a subordinate? Fraternizing?”

“ _Forced_ fraternizing,” You corrected, and realized Cybertronians were capable of love and forming deep enduring bonds. Would it be entirely possible that they would experience unwanted advances as well? Did he really understand, or did he see this as more _nonsense_? Prowl was the ultimate advocate against everything _nonsense_.

“As much as I hate the man, I did find out that he ignored some administration discrepancies from my department, and he closed his investigation on my division.”

“Due to his favor for you?”

Now, First Aid turned his head more to glare at Prowl, who didn’t seem to notice or care. You didn’t like how sick your stomach started to feel. You shrugged but ended up nodding all the same.

You witnessed the twitch in his lip and the working of his jaw, “You have the ability to gain inside intel?”

You jumped as the medic slammed down his welder. Prowl casted an unconcerned glance his way as First Aid snapped, “She’s a _medic_ , not a saboteur. Don’t even consider it.”

Sabotage? Was that something you were even capable of?

The Commander gave him a stern look and uttered a dismissal. First Aid picked up his tools and pointed your way, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” And with that, stormed off for the next patient.

This was _awkward_. This wasn’t the first time you were left alone with this cold, calculating, and _rude_ , Commander, but you were left alone with him at quite a high place. You didn’t _think_ he would just swat you off, but...

“You are a medic, not suited for espionage.” You weren't sure if he was telling you, or himself, “To order you otherwise could compromise the whole operation.”

Prowl wasn’t looking at you, but out at the room of injured bots. You turned your gaze outward and found yourself idly wondering if Sunstreaker could have been one of them. Would they have done any better, or was that all hot air your patient liked to spout off?

_Sunstreaker_. You had a promise to keep.

“I’ll be fine,” You lied, “I can handle it.”

A hand bumped your back, and you gasped at the unexpected contact. Your head snapped up to Prowl as he spoke low enough for you to hear, “If things become too intense, you will come to me. Understood?”

You didn’t have time to answer or react or _anything_ , because without your permission, he scooped you up as he stood. It was tough to describe the strangled bleat that came from your throat as he strolled along, but the look on his face silenced you. This strange, new expression. There was a restrained heat of fury behind that cold mask, but in a flash that trace of anger was gone. What did you just see?

“You did not answer.”

“Yeh-yes, Sir. I will.”

“You are a scientist of your people, and I would rather you play on your strengths,” He said firmly, optics straight ahead, “You have enough distractions. Should I dispose of the fleshling male that is pining after you?”

“No! No, please, no,” You held on tightly to the plating on his fingers, fighting the urge to let go and rub your face, “that would make things worse.”

“Only if they found evidence of a struggle.”

“You seem to have a pattern for suggesting _murder_ , which is pretty crazy coming from someone colored as a _police cruiser_ ,” you risked releasing one hand to wave over the bulk of him.

Prowl said, calm as you please, “They are reported as _acceptable losses_.”

That scared you. That genuinely scared you, because you were not one of _them_. You stared at him for a moment, and then looked down at the fall that awaited should he deem you were an _acceptable loss_. Was that what you were? Something to be used and tossed? Something easily replaced? There was a hiccup moment where you missed Jazz, but...did he see you in the same way as this pragmatist? Did they all feel the same?

Prowl brought you to a room filled with terminals and monitors, stacked from floor to ceiling with screens larger than a recreation center pool. Jetfire was sitting at one, typing so much faster than you ever could. He stepped up to the desk beside the aerial scientist and set you down, carrying one mean scowl. Prowl said nothing as he turned and saw himself out, leaving you alone with your old friend.

You remained quiet, completely captivated by how he worked. His optics flickered between screens, completely absorbed. He muttered a few times, and it made you smile, and it faded. Would you ever be able to work alongside him after this? Everything you’ve been doing had been unsanctioned and illegal, but if you got away with it all, maybe you could find a different path. Maybe, with Henri alive and well at your side, you could explore other things you might accomplish alongside these aliens.

“How long do you plan on staring?”

“Till you notice me.” That voice alone was enough to have you forget your insecurities. That accent reminded you what a little schoolyard crush felt like. You toed at the table’s surface, unable to keep from that shy smile. “I heard you punched Prowl right in the face.”

“What? No.” He turned to you, his smile innocent but those words were suspect, “I am a pacifist, I would never resort to violence.”

You leaned in with a dramatic peer, accented by planting your fists firmly on your hips. He grinned, and you could shamelessly admit he had a handsome smile. He rolled his chair over to lean a little closer, peering just as theatrically, “Call me a liar.”

“I would never. You’re my friend, why would I do something like that?”

“Because I am,” He snorted, “You have no idea what was on that table he threw. All those samples, destroyed. Spawn of a glitch.”

You gasped, “You _did_ hit him! Can't he court-martial you or something?”

Jetfire had this sly grin you had the pleasure of seeing a handful of times. “He could, but he got too distracted trying to find who bolted all the tables down.”

“You’re out of control!” You laughed, “You’ve gone mad, your brilliant mind turning towards evil. You must use your powers for good. You’re on a slippery slope, sir.”

Jetfire looked absolutely pleased that he pulled some mirth from you. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his massive frame, “It really is good to see you again, Doctor, but if I didn’t know you well enough, I know this is not a social call.”

You winced, wishing the circumstances were different enough. “Unfortunately no, as much as I want this to be. I’m sorry to interrupt; I understand you’re decrypting something from the enemy faction?”

“I haven’t got very far. I’m not the best code-breaker around. We sent a transmission to the AOS, but I'm seeing what I can do here while we wait for a response.”

“Could you spare a moment to discuss Sunstreaker?” You asked, but you already knew the answer. Your coyness was only a polite formality at this point.

Jetfire set his arms on the table, folding his hands together beside you, “Of course, but I'm afraid there isn’t much to share. First Aid and I have run every test, and it’s like having a corpse on the table. He literally is an empty shell. His brain is intact, but dark. His engine’s cold and his spark is just _gone_. First Aid suspects some damage to his neural processors, but it’s not anything we can work with unless he’s back in his body. We don’t have the right kind of equipment here, and we certainly don’t have the kind of bots who have the mind for this.”

You sulked. You hoped someone as technologically advanced as these aliens would have been more successful on their end, but Jetfire was just as stumped as you.

“I’m sorry.” He said. You felt the heat from his hand as he cupped along your back. “If Prowl is good for anything, it’s getting what he needs. He has sent numerous transmissions, but we’re losing ground on Delphi and Zarak. It’s just us for now till things die down with the Decepticons. We just need to hold out a little longer till the Autobots up there get things settled on their end.”

“I can't just sit and wait,” You said, and leaned back against his fingers, finding comfort in the remnants of warmth from his relentless typing, “Do you think I could get a copy of everyone’s notes on this end?”

Jetfire seemed apprehensive, “A copy? To read?”

“I have to do _something_. I’m also hitting a wall on my end, and I can’t think of much else to try.” As you were apt to do, your fingers found themselves mapping the angles and lines of the plating from his fingertips up along to his palm. You spoke without much distraction, “We could exchange information, though, like me, you’re not much of an expert in xenobiology. I won’t know much of what I’m looking at, but it’s better than doing _nothing_.”

“But it’s all in a language you don’t understand,” He said, “it’s all in Neocybex.”

“Would it be difficult for you to translate?” Your mind drifted elsewhere for a flash as you pressed the entirety of your palm against his, marveling at the difference between them. 

Jetfire didn’t answer at first. Instead, his hand opened slowly, letting you take in the breadth of it. You glanced up at him, watching you with a soft dimness to his optics, and you scooted away a bit to get a better look at how your hand could just disappear in his. You splayed your fingers wide, and he followed suit. The imagery of it all served as a reminder that you were worlds apart, but in many ways so close.

“I will, for you,” He finally broke the silence, catching your attention fully, “unfortunately, it will take time away from what I was assigned to do, but I’m sure Prowl will see reason. How soon do you need them?”

“How soon can you get them to me?”

“It’s a lot of notes.”

If you knew a thing or two about scientists of any caliber, it’s the dreaded stack of notes and dissertations and theories in a scatterbrained mess. You bit your lip a moment, “You don’t have...something that can translate it? You have to do it manually?”

He shook his head slowly, “Like a cipher program? No. I’ll have to do it all myself. I could probably get some help...”

The feelings of good ideas, of _great_ ideas, still gave you a high. You jolted and gasped, “What if I could help you write a program? Maybe even help with your code-breaking?”

He tilted his head dubiously, “You could help?”

“Someone I know. Same thing.”

He looked off somewhere behind you, trying to think of who you could possibly mean. Then, you saw it, the moment where he knew exactly _who_ you were talking about. He practically _shrunk_ as he slouched inward, voice becoming as small as his visage, “I...won’t tell you _no_ , as much as I want to, but you’ll have to get authorization from Prowl, himself.”

You pushed yourself to your feet, “I will.”

Jetfire was already ready to take you, but you gave a wave of your hand to have him set you down on the floor. With your usual parting words of _take care of yourself_ , you were seeing yourself out of the room. You were careful to stay alongside the makeshift walls to avoid being underfoot as you curiously ate up the surroundings as you always would. You weren't able to make it much farther as you turned a corner, finding Prowl waiting, still and militant like the Queen’s guard.

He wasn’t even looking your way, but somehow a figure as small as yours caught his attention from the corner of his optic, and he was already turning and coming your way.

You balked some as he stopped a reasonable way from you to kneel. He reached for you, and as you had with curiously grabby bots in the past, you put distance between him and his hand. He made a grumble that shared his annoyance.

“I’ll not have you wander the facility to get stepped on by some careless mech.”

“Acceptable losses,” You muttered before ordering, “You cannot handle me as you please. You must ask and gain my permission. I must be prepared, and I must feel comfortable.”

Prowl glared. You maintained this staring-contest, first determined to share how offended you felt, but as more time passed, you wished you would have just let him carry you about without a word. Before more heartbeats of awkwardness passed, his face seemed to relax more to weariness, finally saying, “Very well, since you insist.”

He changed from grabbing you like a football fan trying to snatch up the last can of beer, to palm up like a date asking you to dance. You took small, tentative steps, but eventually you were sitting semi-comfortably, hands clutching to the fingers that curled around you. You wondered if it was more for his security than yours that he held you so snugly.

“Now, if you are _comfortable_ ,” He said, slightly mocking, “Was your discussion with Jetfire promising?”

You slipped on your business persona, “We discussed exchanging information, but in order for me to have the ability to read what was found on Sunstreaker on this end, I will need everything translated.”

Prowl peered, “He has Decepticon data to decrypt. I would rather him do that over translating medical notes to your tongue.”

“I’m aware. I’m to ask you for authorization to write up a program to translate everything so he wouldn’t have to spend the time translating each page, himself.”

“A cipher,” He said, “Do you realize what you’re asking? You want us to give your people the means to read our messages, hack into our systems, and possibly start decrypting our codes?”

_Holy shit_. You felt your face pale as your jaw fell slack. Were you naïve to think the relations between the Cybertonians and the people of Earth were sunshine and rainbows? Where they were sharing information that the other would _never_ use against one another? You uttered the obvious, “You don’t _want_ us to know your language.”

“You don’t even trust your own government system to do the right thing. Why would I? It is my job to ensure Autobot security, and allowing you this cipher would have us lose this edge, should your people ever decide to turn on us,” He angled his head to take in the menagerie of expressions you were displaying.

It hurt, but you got it. Where you would have felt offended, you found understanding. You were a relatively new race to these aliens, and right now you were currently the frontrunner of humanity to many of them. You stoutly displayed that your people were divided. You didn’t trust a lot of your own, why should they? As much as you hated it, you had to take your _great idea_ and leave it out to the cold to die. You could see where the Commander was coming from.

Prowl couldn’t keep that minuscule twinge of surprise from his face as you nodded, “I understand. I’ll think of something else, then.”

He didn’t respond, but continued weaving his way through the angles of the facility before coming to the massive floor space leading to the open hangar doors. He stood still a moment, staring straight ahead in silence. You looked up at him expectantly, waiting for more of something unpleasant.

“Return tomorrow,” He finally said and knelt to set you down, “I’ll have to think on the cipher. If it will give you the means to return Sunstreaker to his frame and if it is worth the risk, I may allow you this.”

Your feet hit the ground, and you turned to face him instantly. You reflexively reached out to take a few of his fingers before he was able to retract. He froze, despite being strong enough to pull away without an issue.

“It wouldn’t be shared with anyone. It would only be used for this and this alone. I wouldn’t do anything to compromise your security, or to put you in any position that would garner any discomfort with your alliance to Earth,” You babbled on, “I want you to know, even though I’m human, I have friends here and I never want to put them in danger.”

“I know,” He said, and finally pulled away to stand, “That is why you are a valued asset, not to be categorized as an _acceptable loss_. I have work to do. I expect to see you tomorrow morning.”

And he was gone before you could process what was said. _Valued asset_. Objectification was still _objectification_ , and you couldn’t sort out if that meant you were viewed as a partner, or as a different chess piece to be used. You sacrificed pawns, not your knights or rooks. Still, it was a better feeling than what you had earlier after hearing _acceptable losses_. You didn’t think Prowl _liked_ you in any regard, but you were sure that was the best compliment you were going to get from him. You’d take it.

You exited the facility, finding Bluestreak, Sideswipe, and Bumblebee conversing quietly. No Sunstreaker. You searched with a little frantic edge to your tone, “Where is he?”

Sideswipe pointed down along the metal siding, “He’s around the corner. Said he wants to be left alone till you’re ready.”

You were a little annoyed that they let him out of their sights, praying that your patient didn’t decide to go on a little walkabout in the surrounding forest to clear his head. You started jogging, throwing over your shoulder, “Stay here. I’ll yell if I need you.”

After quite the trek, you finally rounded the corner of the building to find him sitting against the wall. He glanced at you, saying nothing. You let the silence remain as you planted yourself beside him. Increments of time passed where you both stared off at the trees in the distance, waving at you from the chilled autumn wind. You weren't sure what to say, but what do you say in the face of hopelessness? You saw it in the mirror often enough, you think you would know by now.

“What is this ache I feel in my chest? Why do my optics sting?”

You didn’t look his direction, trying not to clench your jaw as his words made your own heart ache, “It’s a physical response to your emotions.”

“How do I make it stop?”

There wasn’t a real answer. When you learned Henri was never going to wake, there was nothing anyone could do to help you. No amount of comfort did a thing to stave off the pain until you met _them_ , those wonderful distractions you can call _friends_.

You took his hand into yours. His furrowed bewildered blues shifted to you. You met his eyes, “Does this help?”

His gaze started to soften as his brows creased, sucking in air noisily through his nose as he nodded. You turned back out to watch the trees, “We can stay like this till you feel better.”

Sunstreaker relaxed back against the wall, setting your hands between you. He maneuvered his fingers, lacing them in yours before giving a squeeze. Firm, but not crushingly so. Just enough to really feel that someone was on the other end.

The warmth was enough to make your stomach unsettle, but the amount of contact made your skin prickle with a tepid blush. You swallowed hard, your throat becoming as wide as a straw. You managed a strained whisper, “We don’t have to talk, but we can if it helps.”

“This is fine.”

“We can go back inside and look at your body, whenever you want.”

You didn’t think Sunstreaker was going to say anything more after the amount of time that elapsed, but he asked you so softly, so gently – _so unlike him_ – you had to look and confirm it was actually coming from his lips. “Can we go back to your place early? Sit around and talk like we do most nights?”

“Yeah,” You squeezed his hand back, “Yeah. I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After you left:
> 
> "She's so nice!" Bumblebee gushed, "She was so upset when she saw my injuries."  
> First Aid paused from doing the delicate repairs to his faceplate, looking more like a dentist as he hunched over his patient, "She let 'Streaker have it when he said those nasty things. I never had anyone stand up for me like that."  
> Jetfire posted up against the wall, keeping his bulk out of the way. "I think she would like it if you showed her some of your medical work, and I think you would enjoy it, too."  
> "Yeah? I'll offer next time I see her."  
> Bluestreak stood on the opposing side of the slab with Sideswipe, both equally intense with their geeking out.   
> "See? I told you guys. Not all humans are bad."  
> "It's kinda nice to have someone fuss over me," The lambo twin admitted, "Like, she would get upset if something happened to me. Not like Sunstreaker, because we're spark-brothers, but because she ACTUALLY likes me."  
> Prowl storms in from the other room, "Whats going on here? Don't you all have jobs to do?"  
> "We're currently holding a meeting," First Aid explained fearlessly, "we're comparing notes on our organic friend."  
> Sideswipe leaned in, still on the same thought process, "At least, I THINK she likes me. Does she? Does she talk about me?"  
> Bluestreak smiled smugly, as you chatted with him all the time, "More than she did before, since you don't grab her anymore. She doesn't like it. Hates it."  
> "Hates it?" Prowl edged closer, "I'm...required to know. Has the doctor reference me in any capacity?"  
> They all stopped to stare at their Commander.  
> "For my daily reports," He said, then bristled when First Aid taunted.  
> "Dear Diary, does the organic like me, or LIKE like me? Uwu I can't wait to find out tomorrow!"  
> Jetfire suddenly jumped forward, asking Prowl, "Tomorrow? You authorized the cipher?"  
> The Commander tilted his head curiously, "I'm still thinking on it, but I ordered her to return tomorrow."  
> The Jet mech loomed dangerously over everyone, as if telling the scariest camp story, "Didn't she tell you? She's bringing...HIM."
> 
> Prowl left to issue Def-Con:3 security protocols.


	16. Life Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You desperately grasp at straws, trying to find which direction to go in your effort to help Sunstreaker. It becomes obvious to everyone that your priorities are skewed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a pattern.  
> The more stressed I am, the more I write. It should be opposite, but it's not.  
> We're good now. My basement should no longer flood, and my electrical is being updated.  
> Now excuse me while I dream of the perfect shoulder rub. 
> 
> Enjoy 10,000 words of escapism.

“Agent Semen was askin’ about you this morning.”

“It’s _Simmons_ ,” You corrected with a whine, equal parts disgusted and distraught. It was only yesterday afternoon that you put on that passionate display that won you his sour expression. 

“I know what I said,” Alan snorted, sitting passenger within Bluestreak and looking most unnerved. He tucked his arms up like a germaphobic T-Rex when the vehicle talked back.

“Why do you call him the reproductive element of your compact eukaryotic DNA?”

As proud as you were of Bluestreak’s citing the basic building blocks of organic life, you wouldn’t let Alan answer his question, “He asked you?”

“Not me. One of my crew. Bad enough my department is getting audited and half my guys are down with the shits. Now I got this asshole swingin’ his dick all over the place?”

Now Sunstreaker groaned from the back seat, “You fleshies are fragging disgusting.”

You would bear with the ill-mannered language, because that was the most reliable meter you had to your friend’s temper. Currently, the needle was at _annoyed_ , and understandably so. It was when his colorful verbiage stopped, is when you would really start becoming concerned. 

Alan folded his arms, trying to keep tactile contact between him and your silver and blue chariot as minuscule as possible – unlike you, who spread out all relaxed-like, till now. You sat forward, “Who’d he ask?”

“Raoul.”

“What?” You clucked, “I hardly ever talk to your foremen.”

Alan had a glower that made you feel responsible for the undue stress of his team. “Exactly, and my boy said no, but when he mentioned you two spoke a few times, Agent Bitchman then started interrogating him like it was a fuckin’ war crime. I thought you said you freaked him out.”

“I’m sure I did. He hasn’t contacted me for lunch at all, today. I totally geeked-out on him, he wants nothing to do with me,” You said defensively.

“You did more than _geek_ - _out_ ,” Sunstreaker added from the backseat, singsong teasing as he was apt to do. “It was practically a confession.”

“Shut up, Sunny,” You grumbled.

“Confess what?” Bluestreak asked.

“I didn’t confess anything!”

“She thinks I look _good_.”

You shrieked, “I said that about everyone – not _you_!”

“What about me?” Bluestreak pealed a pitch higher.

“What _about_ you?” Sunstreaker scoffed.

They continued to bicker without you. You shrunk down a little more in your seat, sheepishly looking over at Alan. He sought refuge within his calloused hands, nails still dirty from whatever early-morning work he had to accomplish before meeting you in the parking lot.

You contacted him last night, right after departing from the Autobot base and spending the rest of the day at home, because there wasn’t much else to do. Your lab was still keeping up appearances with working on what they could, and Doctor Arkeville claimed he was reaching out to who he could for the equipment you needed while fielding the agents at the same time. You were lucky Sunstreaker wasn’t down your throat about the lack of progress.

Instead, he was quiet. Yesterday, after you held his hand till he calmed, you went back to your place as he wanted, and things were _domestic_. You fixed him something to eat with him over your shoulder; he dried dishes as you washed them; he helped you carry laundry down to the bottom floor of the apartment and then lent a hand folding it all while watching television with you. The conversations were light, and sometimes touched on Cybertron and culture, but never broached on anything serious. Not a single word was offered about him and what he was going through. You didn’t chase the subject, but you were aware that he was keeping a lot to himself.

When Alan was finally able to come to your place that night, you held this little meeting in your living room and shared your discussion with Prowl and Jetfire. You had a plan. You had direction. Getting these notes translated could either lead to a dead-end or open up a map of possibilities. Alan stayed late, working off of his portable computer on the beginnings of a program with you at his side. You were no technological savant, but you knew enough to appreciate the skill your unruly friend had. Alan could practically _speak_ in code.

Sunstreaker was also admittedly impressed that you two worked pretty well together.

Now, that working relationship was strained as Alan dragged his hands down his face, clawing at his stubble and drilling an accusatory glare your way. “This is why we don’t hang out, anymore. Of all the friends you’ve made, these are the worst.”

You glared right back, eye twitching some as the two Autobots gradually got louder. “The friends I’ve made say _you’re_ the worst.”

“Fuck them, I’m your _best_ friend.”

“You flicked a cigarette at my _face_. The scab finally peeled off!”

“You were being a little brat! I don’t need you checking my work!”

Bluestreak and Sunstreaker fell silent, as it now seemed there were new fighters trading blows in the arena.

“Boo-hoo!” You sat up straighter, your hands flying as fast as your mouth. “Now you know how it feels!”

“Ooh, don’t you _dare_ lump me together with those assholes. I never doubt you or the shit you do!”

Sunstreaker leaned forward from the backseat, “Hey guys –"

It was frightening, how in unison you were with Alan as you both whipped around to shout, “What?”

He flinched back, “Slag, what’s wrong with you?”

“Yeah,” Alan snorted, looking your way, “What's wrong with you?”

Your brain flickered and fizzled before just shorting out. You had nothing witty to snap out. You settled for a seething glower, letting out a long breath before turning and sinking yourself back in your seat. You even gave a petulant little wiggle as you crossed your arms. You heard Bluestreak hum a chuckle, and the seatbelt across your chest tightened just enough to let you know it was his doing.

“But in all seriousness,” was probably the most ironic thing to come out of the tech’s mouth, “Will we run into any suits at robo-base? Did they already check out the place?”

Bluestreak answered with that rare, professional curtness to his tone, “After they first arrived, Prowl coordinated to have one inspect the facility, to _get it out of the way_ , he said.”

You bitterly hoped that the Autobot was infamously unpleasant and that the agent wet themselves.

“Did they see my body?” Sunstreaker asked.

“I don’t know, maybe?” He paused, “The Commander would definitely have a cover, I’m sure of it.”

You abandoned your surly party-of-one to chime in, “I have to agree. I trust Prowl to know what he was doing, inviting in an investigator. He’s not stupid.”

“He’ll love hearing that.”

“Why?” Your face pinched. What a strange thing to say. Prowl didn’t seem the type to need affirmation.

Bluestreak started stammering and didn’t fight it when Alan spoke up, “Then we go in, get our shit done quick, and bug out. We don’t need to draw any more attention than we already are. This is a blind spot for those fucks, and I want to keep it that way for as long as possible.”

You nodded, _because he was right_ , and you noticed from the corner of your eye Sunstreaker's arched brows. You dare say he looked a little impressed with Alan. It wasn’t uncommon for the man to have some tactically genius ideas, he had military blood under that tattooed skin after all, just not the drive to follow strict authority.

Eventually, the road opened up to the wider paved lot, with the Autobot facility tucked within the thick forest. Things were a bit livelier today. More bots were out in the open, shipping containers were scattered about, being packed or rummaged through; but mostly you noticed the mechanical aliens were getting their plating touched up. You heard Sunstreaker give the most _longing_ of sighs.

“What's going on?” You pressed yourself against the window as Bluestreak weaved his way through.

“Another one of our bases found a Decepticon bunker, and we finally got our share of the supplies delivered last night.”

You heard Sunstreaker sigh again.

Bluestreak cruised up near the entrance, where a group sat around a collection of a metal mess tangled with some steel boxes. He let you out, and you waved at a few of the familiar mechs. “Bee, your face looks so much better.”

Bumblebee sat against the wall, looking good as new with that youthful smile you adored. He waved back enthusiastically, only to get a gruff scowl from a darkly faded green mech that hunched over him with a pen-like device aimed around his shoulder. You blinked, piecing together the scene like a puzzle. Bumblebee was getting his repairs painted over. You’ve never seen that up-close. Curiosity had you stepping closer.

“As good as it can be. First Aid is no miracle worker.” Sideswipe rocked you from your stupor. You regarded him with an easy grin, feeling a little bad you didn’t notice him sitting in plain sight beside this mess

“You’re lucky I can’t move. I don’t want Hoist to mess up.”

“You say after waving like an idiot,” The green mech, Hoist, murmured. He turned his head enough to look at you, or maybe behind you, you never could be sure with those visored-optics. He went right back to work, and you respected that. Not every Autobot was excited to meet the local indigenous organics, but you couldn’t get a bead on whether it was disinterest or detestation, thanks to that _pesky mouthplate_.

Sideswipe motioned you closer just as Alan stepped up beside you, breathing out a prayer or a curse, you could never tell which. That’s the moment you realized that pile before you was a mess of _weapons_. You weren't afraid of guns, but the sheer size of them paired with the amount was enough to make you feel this wave of unease, like standing on a rocking boat. It was just _a lot_ of guns.

“Some score,” Sunstreaker took to your opposing side as Sideswipe waved you over with more enthusiasm, grunting _come here, come here_ with each wave.

It was only when Bluestreak daintily stepped over you and planted himself beside Sideswipe that you came out of your daze. You didn’t even hear him transform. Alan was already crossing the way, a giddy bounce to his step, as he started surveying a car-sized blaster.

You looked over at Sunstreaker and he turned his longing gaze to you, feigning disinterest, “It’s all junk. Pieces of con slag that’s not even worth the scrap metal.”

He was trying so hard to put on a good front. You knew nothing of war, but you knew of victories. The spoils of your efforts. How he must have missed a raid gone well. You tried to keep the sympathy from your face, stating matter-of-factly, “I’ll have to take your word on it. I’m sure you have a better collection.”

He paused, his alien blues flicking between you and the mess, until finally settling on you. Before your eyes, you spotted the faintest of smiles, a _real_ genuine ghost of a smile, tease his lips. “I do, actually. Get me in my body, and I’ll show you what a proper blaster looks like.”

That was the first time he made plans to interact with you _after_ your success. He needed that kind of positive thinking, to plan ahead, to have that kind of hope. You would know. You’ve planned so much with Henri once you would set everything right again, and it sometimes felt like the only thing that got you up most mornings. You smiled wider because this was a _check_ in the progress box.

“I look forward to it,” You said, gesturing to the open hangar door, “Should we find Prowl?”

“Sides is about to blow a gasket if you keep ignoring him.”

You glanced at the frantically flapping gunner, making all sorts of noises for your attention. You felt your face scrunch up. You hate the idea of blowing off your friends, but there was just this _naggingly_ _urgent thing you had to do_. “We should probably get to work.”

Sunstreaker snorted, nudging your arm with his elbow, “We will, just give me a bit. I haven’t seen Hoist since the drop.” He started backing away, leaning in with a haughty tilt to his head, “We can spare a few kliks, you busy little bloodbag. I’d be a slag brother if I didn’t make you say hi, first.”

He spun on his heel and made his way to Bumblebee and Hoist, leaving you with your jaw at your feet. _This_ was new. You would think, after seeing all that he’s missing, his urgency would be ten-fold. Also, _Sunstreaker had friends_. Bluestreak had told you the yellow gunner wasn’t very popular with many due to his attitude – and it was a relief to hear it wasn’t just _you_ – but it seemed he had _some_. You wanted to argue, to say, _the faster we get you back in your body, the faster you can go play with your friends_ , but you bit your tongue. You would give in, and let him have the time he wanted.

You left for Sideswipe as he continued to motion you over like he had the biggest slab of gossip. Bluestreak sat close beside him, looking equally excited as the red mech pointed to the metal parts that lay before them. “I bet you don’t know what this is.”

You hummed, shaking your head. He started screwing together the long pipes that made the barrel. “ _This_ is a Neuron Rifle. This thing can fire off the tip of a turbofox’s tail from thousands of yards away with a laser that cuts like a monofilament razor.”

You crossed your arms, angling your head from side to side to take in all the bits and pieces. It _sounded_ impressive, but a lot of things these aliens had were so much more advanced, you were hardly surprised anymore.

Bluestreak shifted in his seat, leaning forward to catch your gaze. When you raised your brows in question, he smiled. It wasn’t his usual giddy, sweet, boyish grin. It was proud, mature, and undoubtedly handsome. “Watch me,” He said, and you did.

It was embarrassing how often you forgot that Bluestreak was a soldier, _a sniper_. His hands moved with a deft skill that made him top of his class, putting together this weapon with an ease that reminded you that he had a _body count_. Before your eyes, he produced a long-barreled sniper rifle, holding it comfortably, like it was part of him, and aimed skyward while testing the sights. The sunlight glinted off his plating just right, and your hand came up to keep your breath from running off.

Bluestreak angled his head just enough to look at you, and his creeping grin told you he _knew_ what he was doing. You planted your fists on your hips and tried your best to scowl. You hated it when you were caught admiring – or _ogling_ as Jazz called it, thank god he wasn’t here to catch you this time. 

He laid it down, waving you closer, “Come look it at. It’s in pretty good condition, being used and all. Don’t worry, it’s not loaded.”

Sure, you could pass the time looking at alien weaponry. You checked on Alan with a glance, seeing he was already knee-deep within a cannon-like firearm of some sort, already working a panel off and digging through the wiring. You made your way over, hearing the semi-quiet voice of Hoist ask, “They taking good care of you?”

It wasn’t any of your business. Eavesdropping was unsavory behavior and you were a woman of class, above such mortal impulses. _Sometimes_. You listened as best you could as you stepped up to the barrel of the rifle, running your hands along as you wandered further up the weapon. The metal was cool and smooth under your hands, save for a few nicks here and there. 

“Those bloodbags? _Pfft,_ no,” You heard Sunstreaker respond.

You fixed your jaw, grudgingly staying silent. You didn’t want to be celebrated and praised for everything you had done, but _some_ recognition wouldn’t hurt. It took a little bit of time for you to build the friendships you had with these aliens, and to think one of them disliked you because they thought you were letting one of their own suffer? You would have a talk with Sunstreaker after this.

You fixated on their voices, busying yourself to seem entranced with what you were inspecting. You traced the housing, gingerly running your hand up and down the trigger. You felt the dents and burrs, evidence of use from a metal finger pulling it back. You laid your head to see down the length of it, seeing the sunlight glint off the alien metal in flecks, like glitter.

“Except one.”

You paused, fingers curling around the trigger. _Was he..._?

“She is, for the most part.”

You jolted, twisting to look up and you _forgot to let go_. The trigger pulled back way too easily for someone your size, and the gun _clicked_. You gasped in a scream, yanking your hand back and holding it like you were just bitten. _It’s not loaded_ , your thoughts rapid fired, and you looked up apologetically wide-eyed at the two strangely silent mechs.

Sideswipe’s mouth was open in a shocked grin, like he’d seen the most salacious thing. Bluestreak stared dumbly, and something pink started rolling down from under his nose. Your vision bounced between them, waiting to hear the scolding of a lifetime. Unloaded or not, you _never_ discharged a firearm without checking the chamber yourself, first.

The red gunner leaned in, “You really like touching with those servos, don’t you? Wanna see _my_ gun?”

You ignored him because you were trying hard to piece together what you thought you saw. You squinted, “Blue, there’s something under your nose.”

Bluestreak snapped out of it, touching the space above his lip. Sideswipe shouldered into him, “Real smooth. You always spring a leak in your olfactory sensor when a femme handles your new rifle?”

“No!” He defended.

“Olfactory – a nosebleed?” Your tone hit a pitch, “You guys get nosebleeds?”

The silver and blue mech scuttled to his feet, “No! I mean, yes – sometimes. It’s a perfectly normal thing for mechs –"

“Sparklings.”

“ _Mechs_ to have spontaneous leaks for...reasons – stress! This rifle is very stressful – exciting! I’m just, so happy,” He paused for a beat, looking at your concerned and incredibly confused face. He vented his internals a few times before calmly saying, “It’s just... a very, _very_ nice sniper rifle.”

You nodded, voice cracking, “Okay...?”

“I’m going to go inside now and have First Aid seal this.”

You nodded again, repeating, “Okay.”

Bluestreak walked briskly through the wide entrance, and your eyes followed and lingered to where he vanished inside. You were still getting to know the alien culture, and if he liked a firearm that intensely, then he didn’t have to worry about what you thought. You hoped he didn’t think you were judging him for liking a sniper rifle that much. You heard Sideswipe’s vocals click off and on, peppered with static as he snickered and snorted. That made you wonder if that sort of behavior was jeered at, like someone who collected DND figurines. _Nerds_ , _geeks, losers_. You were familiar with the terms.

You averted your eyes when you heard Sunstreaker laugh. You’ve dallied long enough, but you hesitated to break up whatever moment he was having with Hoist and Bumblebee. Sunstreaker was deep in whatever he was talking about, his hands all over the place like he was painting a picture. It made you smile to yourself. You knew when you got worked up, you waved about like an idiot. Sometimes, Henri would hold your hands down just to see if your mouth could function without it. Your fiancé was such a stark difference from Sunstreaker, it was a relief and a wrench of guilt. How often have you forgotten you were staring at the face of your beloved while speaking to the alien within? 

You felt something bump your back, and you checked on Sideswipe from over your shoulder. He nodded his head in Sunstreaker's direction, “How’s he been?”

“Better, I think,” You answered honestly, “He’s not very open with his feelings, but I can say he’s less...hostile.”

Sideswipe held out his palm beside where you stood, “That means that he doesn’t hate you.”

“Oh good, I was worried he was mean to those he liked,” You snarked playfully, sitting down in his hand with your legs dangling off the side. He brought you to his knee and let you off. You settled, legs tucked under you with a hand propping you up. The other wandered along the lines of his plating, giving your fingers the much-desired warmth in this crisp chilly air.

He pulled out a blade from his hip compartment. It was massive by your standards, but it was just a knife by his. He held it in his palm before you, and you marveled at the glowing line of blue along the edge. Your hand reached out to touch the light, and you felt your cold fingers tingle.

“It’s an energon-based blade.”

You pulled your hand away. You were about to touch a radioactively powered alien energy. _Why did you always have to touch_?

“It can cut through the thickest plating, and burn through dozens of fuel lines at once,” He said, but it wasn’t prideful. His voice was hushed and somber. You looked up at him just as the back of his free hand came to brush along your spine. “My brother has a matching one. We took down this glitch of a con that used these rocket boosters to zip around with these. Slippery little fragger. Sunny and I, we took him down together after he nearly slaughtered our outpost.”

Sideswipe’s hand moved to where you thought he was about to lift you, but he just held your small form while gazing at that knife, “If we weren’t together, that con could have killed me or him. He didn’t expect twins, and it was because of that, that we were able to take him out. Together... we’re always better, together. I’m...not used to him being gone.”

You turned to look back at that glossy knife. Your heart ached for him. You knew what it felt like to have a piece missing from you, even when they’re a few feet away. His hand slid down to rest on your lap, and you placed yours on his, stroking back and forth soothingly. You wished you knew what to say. When you were waking up every morning with swollen, bloodshot eyes, this is what others must have felt like. Your friends never said the right thing, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to hear. There were no magic words to heal grief. 

You shared your intent, because that’s all you had to offer, “I’ll never give up. I’ll find a way to get Sunstreaker back in his body.”

Sideswipe’s thumb rubbed along your back, “Thank you. I’m glad my brother has someone like you to take care of him.”

Your eyes fluttered at the contact, feeling your spine pop in the places he pressed. You chuckled weakly, “You don’t need to thank me. He needs help, and this is what I do. I just wish there was someone to take care of _me_.”

He put the knife back in his hip compartment, but he never stopped those long, languid strokes. “And how would someone take care of a tiny femme like you?”

“Right now, _that_ ,” You rolled your shoulders back into the unyielding metal of his thumb. With how tense you’ve been, this was _amazing_. Any insecurity was overshadowed by the cry of your aching muscles, giving in to this firm touch that rolled out those knots. Your eyes lulled as you pressed back more into it, hearing Sideswipe hum softly.

“You’re so soft and warm, and there’s this thumping thing under your chest-piece. What _is_ that?”

You twisted, angling yourself to where he hit the spot between your shoulder blades. “That is my _heart_. It keeps me alive.”

“And that’s the thing that’ll break if I make you sad?”

You stopped squirming against his strokes, pausing to digest the fact that you didn’t know if there was anything left of your heart to break. Everything that already happened, it just felt like chips of yourself kept crumbling away. You swiveled your head to look up at him, lips thin in a sad smile, “It’s a metaphor. It can’t _physically_ break, but...but it feels like it. It can hurt. A lot.”

Sideswipe’s fingers curled around your body as he leaned in over you, making you look directly up at his face. The smirk he had was as devilish as they came. “How would I make it feel the opposite of pain?”

_Woof_. You had to check yourself and that unintentional fluttering within your chest. For a hot minute, the wind blew in your hair as a soft gasp passed over your parted lips and _this wasn’t a fucking romance novel._ You smothered that romantic side of you with the pillow of family-friendly ignorance, because Sideswipe was just being sweet and considerate – despite that all-too-handsome smirk he wore. You were helping the person most important to him, and he only wanted to repay you by helping however he could. _Sweet and considerate and nothing more_.

He was a thirty-foot tall metal alien and you were a five-foot something organic. Completely incompatible in multiple ways – not that you never dwelled on such a thing. Either way, it didn’t matter. You were loyally engaged to a brain-dead man, but moments like these reminded you that your heart still worked. _You still yearned_. You missed Henri, and how he loved you and how he made you feel. You missed the thrill of romantic affection. You missed the warmth of the one you loved. _God damn it, these pretty aliens and their smooth-talking_. You blamed Jazz for starting the trend.

“What does it mean when your _heart_ thumps faster?” Sideswipe purred, and there was this knowing tone about it. He had this taunting drawl, just like his brother.

Sweet and considerate and _curious._ Nothing more.

Sideswipe’s body jolted at the sound of a digitized cough. You turned to see Prowl standing, arms crossed, looking as dour as ever. Jetfire stood behind him, having the most amused curl to his lips. You made a mental note to ask _why_ they make the noise of clearing their throat if they can't breathe.

You upped your courteousness a few more degrees than usual as you put on your best smile. “Prowl, how are you doing?”

Jetfire crossed his arms and cupped a hand over his mouth, seeing the whole thing. His frame shook as he muted his vocals.

“I’m functioning,” He said dryly, “Sideswipe, _why_ are you petting her?”

“Humans like getting petted...?” He glanced to you for confirmation.

Prowl’s optics flickered a beat before looking over his datapad, tapping a few times, “Do they?”

Alan snorted a laugh from the pile, promptly catching the officer's attention. The tech crawled out of the barrel of a gun, dragging his heavy backpack with him. He stood to brush off the debris and dust, pants sagging with his pockets full of spoils.

The scowl on his face ramped up, and there should have been a countdown to his imminent explosion. It didn’t occur to you till now that Alan probably committed some kind of intergalactic crime by taking technology not sanctioned by whatever committee allowed the trading to begin with. Mind you, no one really moved to _stop_ him. You could see the rest of the day being a problem. The Autobot would force the man to relinquish his winnings, and the tattooed tech would fight him because he _could_.

You pushed out of Sideswipe’s hold and took the short jump down on the pavement. The movement caught Prowl’s attention, and you took advantage of distracting him away from your more unruly friend. “It’s always good to see you functioning. I would be sad to see otherwise.”

The world fell silent as Prowl fixated those hawkish optics on you with a frown that was deeper than usual. You prepared yourself for the scolding of a lifetime, because all this here and now were prime examples of nonsense and lollygagging; and the officer _hated_ everything to do with nonsense and lollygagging.

“Likewise, Doctor,” The Autobot replied smoothly, and _did you hear him right_? The entire surrounding forest was silent as the world checked to see if this was one of the signs of the end times. Did Prowl just allude to _like_ seeing you?

That’s a _tick_ in the progress box you didn’t even know you had.

“Moving on,” He prompted the Earth to continue spinning. He gestured behind him with his datapad, “Jetfire and I have discussed at great length your request for a translation program, to make exchanging of information more streamlined.”

The aerial scientist was still processing what happened, but managed to shake himself free. He rubbed the space between his optics, “Yes, _great_ length.”

You smiled knowingly, looking the two over for any fresh dents or scraped paint. They must have argued all night.

Prowl continued, “And while I’m completely against developing a cipher, I understand the gravity of the situation –"

“You understand _just now_?” Sunstreaker scoffed, crossing the way back to your side

He frowned, working his jaw and baring those alien teeth, his nerve tested by being interrupted. You set a hand on your patient’s shoulder as he approached, shooting him a silencing scowl and addressed the tall officer, “And I understand your hesitance. I am willing to address and alleviate any concerns you may have. I want to work together, and make this a comfortable relationship between us.”

Prowl angled his head your way slowly, “Your compliance is noted, and appreciated. Your choice in _helpers,_ though, is the problem."

“I’m the best you got, Bacon-bot.” Alan butted in.

Sideswipe sputtered behind you. Hoist got up very slowly, pulling Bumblebee with him, and they stalked off for a _safer_ place for touch-ups. Jetfire tried to fight his grin by stroking his chin. He snorted and cleared his intake before his Commander shot him a silencing glare. Prowl took a few unneeded steps forward in that obvious intimidation tactic, “It’s not that I don’t trust _you_ , Doctor. This _fleshling_ , however...”

“Really?” The Technical Engineer said dryly.

“Really,” Prowl echoed, “To put sensitive materials in the servos of some _thing_ so...offending...”

“Ok.” Alan said loudly, pointing upward, “That’s it. You come down here and say what you mean _to my face,_ you giant Lite-Brite sunnova-bitch.”

The officer knelt so fast, you stumbled back into Sunstreaker. You went to intervene, but the blond had you by the shoulders. “Oh, I _gotta_ see this.”

That’s all you needed. Alan would get squished, you would be without a technical engineer, you would have to explain how he died to everyone – including Agent Simmons, _oh joy_ – and they would write on his gravestone: _didn’t know when to quit_.

“Gladly,” Prowl vented hotly, “I don’t care for you or your attitude. I don’t trust you, and I hate how you conduct yourself. You are a disrespectful, self-serving, arrogant little organism not even worth the stain on my peds.”

“You can’t handle workin’ with someone you hate. That’s life, y’dumb soup-can. Get over it,” The tattooed human laughed, crossing his arms, “I don’t give a fuck if you like me, and honestly – you don’t know me. You never will. _She_ knows me.”

He kept a bold glare on those sharp features of the Autobot Commander, “Stop being a giant metal bitch and think,” He pointed at you, “You say you trust her? Then use that microwave as a brain. Why would she ask me to help if she didn’t trust _me_?”

Prowl tilted his head slightly to look in your direction. Did the Autobot trust you? There must have been some semblance of it, since he left Sunstreaker in your care. You held his gaze for what felt like minutes until your pager beeped you back into your body. You instinctively glanced down, and for a moment you thought your eyes crossed. You ripped the pager right off your belt to inspect the numbers closer.

“What is it?” Sunstreaker asked under his breath.

Prowl turned back on Alan, ignoring whatever plight you were currently experiencing. He began with his threat, “If you work with her, then you’ll work under me. As your superior, I demand a respectful –"

“Nya-nya,” Alan responded with _some_ kind of noise akin to what was spelled, focusing more on both the beeps from your pager to the confusion on your face. The fearlessness of how he waved off the steaming officer should have been a skill to be slapped on a resume. “What? What is it?”

Prowl, a hair-breadth strand away from testing the natural order of turning a living organism into compost for the surrounding foliage, immediately became distracted by your _bothersome internals_ flooding his sensors.

“It’s from Holly,” You began, confirming out loud like there was a chance for suspicion, “but...I don’t know how to explain this. We came up with this code as a joke.”

Sunstreaker read the numbers, “Eight, Eight, Eight?”

“You speak in binary code with your subordinates?” Prowl asked, and he seemed a smidge fascinated.

“They’re called _minions_ ,” Alan corrected him, and then turned to you, “And you’re a goddamn nerd to think three eights is funny. Now sixty –"

“It’s eight, eighty-eight,” You cut him off, “That’s how much that one motel used to charge when it first opened.”

“Why do you know these things?” He peered, openly judging you, per usual.

“What does it mean? The triple eight? What was the joke?” Sunstreaker, surprisingly, was the one to ask the serious question.

You looked at the pager again, as if you read the numbers wrong for the twentieth time. “It means _lay low._ Like what people running from the law does in those kinds of movies? They lay low in a hotel. It was... it was a joke. We were planning out numerical codes to communicate though our pagers, and – and we were having a laugh, coming up with stupid numbers – things we would never use!”

It was slowly sinking in. Things have changed so much, that it was ironic to think you were laughing together, once upon a time, while coming up with little coded messages; spanning from the childishly lewd to the ridiculously Armageddon-like proportions of accidentally opening a dimensional rift in space and time. You pressed your hold hands to your mouth, remembering a few that would apply to the disaster you currently faced.

Several beats passed before Prowl broke the silence, “Are you sure it doesn’t mean to run? I can have this place evacuated in the next twenty kliks.”

“No, not run,” You said, wincing as if recalling physically hurt, “That would be a five-seven-nine.”

Alan’s face was painted with a bit of anxiousness. “Why that?”

“It’s an area-code up north,” You paused, “In...Canada.”

He breathed, “The _fuck_ Holly. You’d think she’s done this, before.”

Sunstreaker grunted in agreement, “Her frame is... _deceiving_. I don’t like her.”

“Dude, same.”

As they continued to go back and forth, you struggled to swallow what little you had and tried to stomach that running was a possible outcome. You’ve never been on the lam, never done anything to require you keeping a bug-out bag – who was prepped by your ever-increasingly, yet disturbingly useful assistant. You had to cut out movies and shows involving criminals and cops, because you found yourself sweating, heart thumping, and nearly having a panic attack thinking you may have to run.

This wasn’t you. You weren’t made for a hard life of crime.

You felt Sunstreaker’s hand on your shoulder, and your eyes met his. He spoke low and calm, “We will stay here for some time then, until you hear from your second again. If I had to guess, that lesser fleshbag is searching for you.” He glanced back at Sideswipe, then up at Prowl, “Send Sides to do a little recon, make contact with her assistant to gauge the situation.”

The officer gave a sharp nod, and with a flick of his hand, you heard Sideswipe’s transformation quickly followed by the departing rev of his engine. Your eyes rested on the hand that remained on your shoulder, and the warmth of it made your stomach roll. You disregarded it and murmured, “Thank you.”

Sunstreaker wordlessly squeezed his response.

“Then let’s get a move on,” Alan clapped his hands together and made his way for the entrance, “Let’s get to work before Agent Cockstain does a drive-by lookin’ for her.”

Prowl, a little confused, looked to you and mouthed the word _Cockstain_. You nearly choked on your whisper and corrected “He means Agent Simmons.”

He nodded slowly, rising to his feet and started leading the way. Jetfire followed behind, and it must have been a little frustrating on their end to take such small and slow steps. Eventually, you were led to where Sunstreaker’s _real_ body laid. There was a row of terminals and monitors along the wall, and First Aid was faceplate deep in whatever he was working on with one particular computer. You barely noticed him, fixated on the awful cobwebs of cords and cables of all kinds attached to the lifeless body on the medical table.

You had it all planned out, to continuously check on Sunstreaker, to plan and watch for any signs of trauma, of seizures, or any kind of negative effects. You never planned for _yourself_. It didn’t matter that it was an alien, or that your view was partially obscured because of the height. You froze in place, fixated on how all those cables and cords were fixed to his body, monitor screen displaying what probably was lifelessness.

You’ve seen plenty of bodies in your lifetime, both living and dead and in-between. It was always jarring to see a loved one on the other side of your career choice. Your mother, your father, Henri...and Sunstreaker? Had you considered him close enough to warrant such an emotional response? Perhaps, or maybe with everything that’s been happening, the image of Henri attached to machinery was all too similar to what you saw now. You didn’t have time to analyze yourself, and how deep these traumas really went.

A rough pat on your back jolted you from your hazed state. You found Alan beside you, but his eyes were much softer than that irritable furrow to his brows. He jerked his head to the metal scaffolding steps, conveniently set up along the side of an equipment table. It was pushed flush against the medical slab, acting as a bridge.

“Y’good, Eve?”

You nodded dismissively, trying your best to hide your faltering moment. Sunstreaker was already making his way to the stairs and you trotted after him, struggling to don the unfeeling skin of the Scientist. You heard Prowl say to Jetfire before taking his leave, “Allow the cipher, but follow up with its deletion immediately afterward.”

The scientist nodded and took his place at the terminal beside the medical slab. You ascended the stairs behind everyone, gripping the railing hard. The scaffolding felt rickety, but that could have been you, and how shaky and unbalanced you felt. You told yourself it was Alan and how he swung his weight around, since he was the type to freak you out by jumping in a moving elevator. He was the first to climb on the Autobot shell carelessly, as if it was just a part of the table, and he crossed the way to the terminal on the other side.

“Alright, Bird-bot.” He slung off his backpack and pulled out a boxy laptop, reminiscent of a suitcase. “Let’s render some motherfuckin’ data.”

Jetfire withered some, and First Aid finally noticed the new guests within the life-support suite. He joined the two, rolling over one of the monitors that had a few cables attached to Sunstreaker. “This feeds the data in our main terminal, but you should be able to set up a hard-line and receive the same feed, _if_ your little box can handle it.”

“Don’t dis my box,” Alan warned as he opened his computer, “It’s beautiful, one of a kind, deserves respect, and my self-worth is not based on the size, shape, or what goes in it.”

“Is he still talking about his computer?” Jetfire sidelined.

First Aid shrugged, “He’s your problem. I’m going back over there to look busy re-reading my notes. Try not to disconnect any of the wires that are attached to the nodes on my patient.”

As that went on, you were busy looking between Sunstreaker and _Sunstreaker_. He stepped up to his body, placing his hand on the armor plating of his arm. His brows came together, and you couldn’t decide if he was uncertain or resentful.

Whatever road he was traveling in his head, you didn’t want him going it alone, “Hey.”

Your soft voice called his attention, and he took in the sight of you briefly. You asked, slipping into Doctor mode, “Are you alright? Dizzy? Nauseated? Trouble breathing?”

“I’m ok.” He said, stepping away from his body, “How about you?”

That took you off guard. You were prepared to cater to his needs. This wasn’t about you, yet you couldn’t help but reply, “Why? Why are you asking?”

His hands came up as if it should be obvious, “Why _wouldn’t_ I? You’re obviously distressed with what you received on your comm. device.”

Deciding against starting a fight and saying the cliché ‘ _why do you care’_ bit, you sighed, lowering your voice, “I don’t know what I did to get his attention.”

Sunstreaker frowned, “What _you_ did?”

“I must have done something to catch his eye, or made him think I was available. Maybe I smiled too much, or said something that he misinterpreted,” You scoured your memory and failed to recall where you made the mistake. “This is my fault, my problem. You have your own to worry about.”

His face twisted like your words were sour to taste. “Or maybe _you_ didn’t do slag and he’s got a pendulum for a processor. How is he being glitched _your_ fault? You did nothing wrong.”

It wasn’t. It really wasn’t your fault. You wanted to believe him when he said _you did nothing wrong_. You’ve gone so long being true to one man – one brain-dead man – that you couldn’t remember what it felt like to be courted, to be wooed, to feel romanced. Because of your inexperience, maybe you accidentally did something to warrant the agent’s attention? Honestly, you couldn’t even remember if you’ve done anything to garner Henri’s attention all those years ago.

You wrestled down trying to comb through what _you must have done_ , to what _you must do now_. Maybe you were over-reacting. Maybe Agent Simmons wanted to discuss something work-related with you. You didn’t outright turn him down, so he had no reason to be upset with you, but maybe he decided to broach on that administrative discrepancy since you were no longer favored. Maybe he got over your batty comments about the aliens and decided to up his game. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was about to get worse.

Too many maybes. It made your hands shake. This is why there were rules against fraternization. A man with that much power at his fingertips should know better, but who was going to tell him? You? 

You were wringing your shaking hands when you felt the warmth of another snap you back out of your head. Your eyes flicked between the hand that covered yours, to the alien blue eyes of his.

“And your problems aren’t really _yours_ , anymore,” Sunstreaker said tightly, his fingers squeezing just enough to where you could _feel_ that there was someone on the other side. “Does this help?”

It didn’t. It gave you more problems, such as this lurching feeling in your stomach. You stared at where you were physically connected to your patient. Something pulled tautly within your chest, knotting tighter. You missed Henri. You missed the affection of someone you loved, and who loved you. You didn’t know when the warmth of flesh turned your guts, or what made some days worse than others. The warmth of metal was a reliable replacement when you sought comfort, and this alien before you was as organic as they came.

You ripped your hands away, glancing over at Alan. He was busy, buried in the little makeshift workspace he created around him as Jetfire helped him with rewiring. Sunstreaker’s brows knitted with confusion, then twisted to insulted. Before he had a chance to air his grievances, you leaned in as close as your sunken whisper would allow, “Sorry, I...don’t want to be touched, right now.”

He blinked, thinking a moment before calling you out, “But earlier, Sides –"

“Is not,” You sucked in a breath, “Is not like a...person. It’s different. It’s difficult to describe.”

_The aliens are not warm like a human body, like the one standing right before you, like the one who you were supposed to marry and live happily ever after._ You didn’t _want_ to describe it.

Sunstreaker paused a beat, “So, you don’t like fleshy contact, but a mech is fine?”

“Don’t read too much into it,” You sighed, “I don’t know how much you guys know about psychological traumas and aversions –"

“Millions of years at war, I think I know a thing or two,” He muttered dryly, glancing back at his prone body for a long moment before turning back, “Wanna put those greasy servos all over that fine hunk of metal?”

“Excuse me?” Your brain was struggling to switch gears.

Sunstreaker stepped to the side, and with a sweep of his hand, displayed his offlined body like a new car. His face lit up with a grin, like you never just had a seriously revealing conversation. “How about distracting yourself with ogling this mech, right here? Be careful, though. I got optics you can get lost in.”

You barked out a laugh, because how enthusiastic he was about himself was perfectly comical. You never met anyone that preened as much as Sunstreaker, and honestly could never tell if he was joking or not. Inwardly, you welcomed the distraction. You started for the Autobot shell, looking for a place to climb up. “I think I’ll be okay, and I _don’t ogle._ ”

“That’s what they all say.”

“To which part? The ogling, or being okay?”

“Both,” He followed alongside you, finding a spot to hoist himself up, “Denial can’t be healthy for that squishy frame of yours. The faster you accept it, the better you’ll feel.”

He held his hand down to you, and you hesitated to touch him. You swallowed down your quailing stomach, because you’d be holding his hand for just a moment, and he yanked you up. You wiped the lingering feelings from your palms, playing it off like you were smoothing your lab-coat. You snorted, “I think you’re in denial. Maybe I don’t find your machine body as attractive as you think.”

Sunstreaker coaxed you across his frame to the middle of his chest, “I don’t _think_ I am, I _know_ I am.”

“I _think_ it’s absolutely insane that someone can be this _in-love_ with themselves.” You crossed your arms. His arrogance was both annoying and amusing, but any distressing thought was sent right to the back of the line. You were sufficiently distracted, and enjoyed the teasing banter – but you’d never admit it. You didn’t have to, not with the smile you couldn’t fight off.

He closed the distance with an arrogant strut, elbowing your ribs playfully as he leaned over his shoulder, “You’d be too, if I was back in my body. I’ll give you a ride you’ll never forget.”

The huskiness to his voice, the coolness in his electric eyes, the proximity of his face, all froze you in place. You couldn’t stop the image of sitting in a sporty alt mode, racing off into the sunset at speeds that sent your heart dancing to a different tempo. You lowered your head and let that sponge named guilt wash the image away. This was not the distraction you were hoping for.

“Are you thinking about it right now?” He asked, his voice barely brushing on a whisper.

You had a hard time meeting his eyes. If he knew any better, he would notice the pink on your face as you conspicuously looked up and down his robotic body. He nudged you again for an answer, and you tried to play it cool, nonchalantly saying, “I’m sorry, what? I was thinking about how I never saw your car before, so I had this funny image of this body running into the sunset. Not much of a smooth ride.”

Sunstreaker snorted, rolling his eyes before walking away to observe his Autobot face.

With his back turned, you took the opportunity to press your cold fingers to your hot cheeks, breathing to quell these flutterings. You repeated to yourself that he didn’t know what he was doing, he didn’t understand what he meant, and that this all was unintentional flirting. If anything else, _you_ were the one who was interpreting it as flirting. Many bots offered you rides all the time. They would say things that would have completely different connotations if they were of your species. Sunstreaker was human and he was wearing the face of your fiancé. That made things a little different. That made things worse.

“C’mere and take a look. I don’t know if you ever saw my real face.”

You had not. This was the first time you actually saw his body up close. You eagerly shoved aside these awkward emotions and crossed over the chestplate to feel a new kind of feeling. A heaviness. A deep, thick, sadness. You’ve never seen a dead – _offline_ – Cybertronian before. The glass of his optics was dark. You imagined they would have been as blue as the eyes of your patient.

When you first saw Henri Arkeville laying in that hospital bed, he looked like he would wake up at any moment. It took you a long time to really see the truth, that a brain-dead man would never open his eyes on his own, and that’s when you finally saw just how colorless your fiancé looked. The same kind of grief pushed against your chest when you saw Sunstreaker’s _real_ face.

You knelt, absently reaching to brush your fingers just under an optic, then down along the smooth metal curve of his cheek. He felt cold. Cold and lifeless. It was difficult to admire a face like his and its pharaoh-like features. You breathed out a shuddering sigh.

“What is it?” Sunstreaker bent over to look over your shoulder, “Do you see a scratch?”

All his arrogance and preening was well deserved. Between his crested helm, that angled chin, and strong nose, he had every right to be cocky because he had an attractive look about him. It just spilled out against every logical fiber of your being, “You have the face of a king.”

You saw from the corner of your vision his mouth opening and closing, like he had some snarky comeback, but you completely threw him off. You turned your head some to look at his blinking face. Finally, he scoffed, “I...I know _that_.”

Seeing his reaction made you smile. It gave you the momentum to stand and shake off this dark cloud that collected over you. Sunstreaker was looking off at Alan and Jetfire. The tech had rivers of wires all around him and the Autobot was fussing on how the painted human could keep track of what was which. It was strange and sudden how fixated he was on the goings-on over yonder, but his flustered face didn’t fool you. You shouldered him as you walked by, gladly giving him a taste of his own medicine, “You’re face is turning color.”

“System malfunction. This organic meatsack doesn’t have any internal cooling systems,” He barked, “It’s inefficient and ugly and I hate it.”

“Uh-huh.” You’ve heard all that before. “Should I ask First Aid to tell me about your body, or do you think you could give me a better tour?”

“Tiny femme, First Aid can’t even begin to tell you all my fine features,” He swept his hand down the length of his body.

The medic muttered loud enough for you to hear, “Sending the primitive computer a translated diagram of Sunstreaker’s body, as the patient is delusional with grandiose perceptions of himself.”

Sunstreaker shot a sharp look his way, then turned a conceitedly arched brow your way. “You ready? Do try and keep up.”

You rolled your eyes, but let him go. The cipher program was slow going, and it was one of those rare occasions you witnessed Alan be serious and professional with his work. He fell in a rut with Jetfire, holding in-depth conversations that broached on the technical aspects of coding a program, and it went right over your head. You found you didn’t mind so much, as you spent time listening to Sunstreaker while he went over the parts of his metal body.

You didn’t understand any of it, but it wasn’t your fault. He was a soldier, not a medic or a scientist of any kind. He described and explained things the best he could, but most of his answer to your questions was, “If it breaks, I don’t function.”

You could _hear_ First Aid squeaking behind his faceplate, having the Cybertronian equivalent of an aneurysm every time Sunstreaker answered something wrong. You knew not to take what he said as accurate.

Eventually, you came to his chest-plate. It was a sheet of metal with glass plates on a few of the edges, like the top view of a car. A very _nice_ car. You almost rued never seeing his vehicle mode, but if it was anything like Sideswipe’s? You knew what a fine car was, and nothing was quite as fine as a Lamborghini Countach.

“This is where my spark was kept.” He said quietly, you almost couldn’t hear, “It's empty now.”

You looked down, and couldn’t tell where it would show if it was vacant or not. “First Aid tell you that?”

“No. I mean, yes, but I already knew.” He knelt and pressed his palm against the metal, “Sideswipe was the first to check. He didn’t have to. He said he could feel it was empty.”

You knelt with him, your sympathetic gaze returning to his face, “He could _feel_ it?”

Sunstreaker didn’t take his eyes off of his body. He was making an effort to keep his expression from twisting, “Yeah, over the bond.”

“Bond?” Your interest piqued, “Can you feel him, too?”

“Not right now, I can't. I feel... _hollow_.” He finally met your eyes. Now things were starting to get to him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say to make things better.” You admitted openly, and he seemed to appreciate it all the same.

Sunstreaker chuckled somberly, glancing away, “I took it for granted, having that connection. My brother and I, we made a team that no one could compare. Sometimes, I hated it, that I could always feel him. Now, I miss it.”

You reigned in the need to know what this _bond_ was, and what actually made them _brothers_. You knew you were looking for anything other than acknowledging this heavy sadness that nestled within your rib-cage. You _felt_ for him. “I’m – _we’re_ – going to get you back home. I want you to have it all back.”

He smiled at you, and it was a genuine, pleasant smile you were not used to, “I know. I want you to have your bondmate back, too.”

You knew what having friends felt like. They opened up to you, you opened up to them. You helped them, they helped you. They leaned on you, and you could rely on them. You cared for them, and in their own separate ways would let you know they cared for you. You wanted them to be happy, and in turn, they wanted you to have happiness in your life. Before Henri’s accident, you accumulated others you categorized as friends. It was when things were difficult, that many couldn’t keep up with any of the aforementioned – but you were not bitter over it. The happiness you wanted seemed unattainable and selfish.

If Sunstreaker was your friend, and not just your patient, you needed to do the right thing and show you were reliable. Discomfort or not, you would overcome your aversion to the touch of his skin, and deal with it on your own. He had enough of his own baggage to deal with.

You reached out and set your hand on his, and you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.

A razor in the form of lightning pierced your hand and traveled up your arm. You were sure you screamed, but your ears buzzed loudly. Something burned you, and for a moment you felt like the limb just vanished. You felt nothing, _it was gone_. You fell back, grabbing the appendage as it exploded with tingling nerves. Your arm was still there. Sunstreaker was still kneeling in the same spot, appearing fine, but eyes wide and wild at what just occurred.

Alan was already yelling, “What the _fuck_ just happened?!”

“Doctor Morgan! Are you alright?” Jetfire cried, and your brain was so rattled you didn’t know when he picked you up.

First Aid, torn between the readings on the screen to investigating what happened to his patient, exclaimed, “What in Primus...? Life signs just lit up like a galactic storm!”

The aerial scientist was setting you down on the adjacent table, and Alan rounded the lifeless shell carefully, treating it as still electrified, despite Sunstreaker keeping full contact with it as he jumped off. They rushed to your side, and the tech grabbed your wrist to extend your arm while the blonde babbled a barrage of questions. You didn’t hear a one. You were still processing.

_Life signs._

“Can you feel this?” Alan pinched at your fingers and was hesitantly relieved when you flexed and nodded. He worked off half your lab coat to look at the entirety of your arm all the way to the shoulder. “I turned to look just in time to see an arc of electricity go up your arm – where are the burns? Where does it hurt?”

“It...It doesn’t.” You pulled your hand away to inspect it yourself. “No, it did, it _did_ hurt be-before it went numb. I can feel it, now. I think I’m okay.”

“You don’t _fucking_ get it,” he nearly yelled in your face, “People’s hearts _stop_. People have _burns_ from that shit – how do you not?” He turned his attention to Sunstreaker, “You. You were in contact with her. Did you feel anything?”

“No...I don’t know.”

“Well, which is it?”

“I don’t fragging know!”

“Fuckin’ find out or I’ll string you up to that terminal and _jog your memory_.”

“Shut up!” You yelled and you got your wish. You took a couple of deep breaths before you were able to continue, “I’m fine. _I am fine_. It was just ah – a shock and –" You could see Alan had words to share about you calling this a _shock_. “– and it doesn’t matter right now. First Aid, did you say _life signs_?”

“Yeah, for a nanoklik, like a jolt or jump-start,” He typed furiously on the keyboard.

“What would have caused it?” You were fixated on what you felt was most important, while you heard the distinct clicking of Alan’s lip piercing on his teeth. He was starting to get _very_ upset.

“A residual charge, a stray current, lingering spark filaments, one last kick of power reserves – I don’t have the right kind of medical equipment here. He _needs_ to be in a proper Autobot medbay on the station. I can only do so much with...” He trailed off, finally turning to look at you. The light of his visor brightened in his own realization. He left the computer to observe you closer. “What about you? You’re unharmed? Do you need medical attention?”

You shook your head, but your friend spoke up, “Yes. Yes, you do. Back me up, Sunshine.”

Sunstreaker nodded, “I don’t know much about organics, but I’m not taking any chances.”

You ignored them, not taking your attention off the scientist and medic, “Could the current have come from the terminal? Maybe something shorted with the connection you had with Alan’s computer?”

First Aid looked at Jetfire, and they both turned to the open terminal and the chaotic mess of wires, creating a little nest around the portable computer.

First Aid gestured to the mess, “Sounds plausible to me.”

Jetfire rubbed his helm a moment, speaking out loud, “But would that make your data come back as if his spark was active? His spark is dark, there is no way a surge of electricity would jumpstart it. What would have fooled your readings? Maybe an influx to the terminal’s capacitor? Or maybe something with the rotary girder within the processing splint? No, maybe the caneuter rotator slipped three degrees –"

“Hey Beaker-bot,” Alan threatened the tallest Autobot you knew, “I’m about to shove you in an over-sized locker if you don’t start making sense.”

You held your hand out to silence the man, asking the mechs, “Will this affect any of the data we are receiving? It’s very important we get this translated as soon as possible.”

Sunstreaker gripped the sleeve of your lab coat, “You just got hit with Primus-knows-what. We should see a medic –"

You slipped out of the remainder of your coat, pushing yourself to your feet. You were determined to show everyone you were fine. Everything was fine. You could feel your heart thrashing against your sternum, but you were _fine_. You had your priorities, and you would not budge for anything. “We need this. I need to see if there's anything that can help us. _I need this_.”

He rose to stand with you, alien blues fasten on you. “I need you _online_.”

“Hey, hey,” First Aid leaned in, “how about I run a few cursory scans of her organic makeup, and she can see whether she needs medical attention.” He lazily waved his hand over Alan, “And you can keep working on filling up your box with loads of our data.”

“Dude, don’t make it weird.”

Jetfire gingerly set his hand at your side, and you instinctively reached to touch. He worked his jaw, optics brimming with concern. “We’ll get help soon. The siege on our outposts has to end sometime. We just need to hang on a little longer.”

First Aid held out his palm to you, waiting. You glanced at Sunstreaker before placing yourself within the medic’s hand. You were familiar with that gaze of doubt. It was the same look others gave you after Henri had his accident, and you said you were fine. It was the same look your friends had when they worried about you, until they moved on with their lives. Even your best friend, the one you needed most, left you to field this with only Alan at your side, _because you were fine_.

But Sunstreaker didn’t look like he was going anywhere, anytime soon, and you felt awful that it wasn't his choice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After you left for the evening:  
> Prowl never just walked into a room. He stormed in like he was about to catch someone getting up to no good. He was also getting real tired of entering in said room and finding everyone just gathered about in clusters, gabbing away. He flung the datapad across the room, pointing to where it hit the wall so dramatically, “Don’t you think I should have known about Doctor Morgan’s incident right after it happened? Not cycles after she left?!”  
> “I didn’t bother you because she said she was 'fine',” First Aid gestured to your scans.  
> “She says,” Sideswipe grumbled, looking a bit more surly than usual.  
> “I wouldn’t know, I’m not a xenobiologist. I took her word for it.”  
> Prowl could have been throwing steam, “That wasn’t your call to make. I should have been informed immediately.”  
> “She should have seen a medic, immediately,” Jetfire said sternly, “Electricity and humans don’t go well together. Evidently, the current can travel through their system and stop their, ah, blood-pump organ.”  
> Bluestreak gasped, “Their fluid-pumps can short-circuit, too? Why are they built so badly?!”  
> First Aid waved dismissively at the officer, “Stop your yelling. She promised she would see a medic for a full evaluation.” He gave a haughty tilt to his head, “Don’t worry, Prowl, your little fleshy crush will live.”  
> He straightened more than he already was, his shoulders squaring up even more as he snarled, “First Aid, I swear, I will have you demoted to nurse so fast –"  
> “As I’ve heard the painted human say,” First Aid planted a fist on his hip, leaning in just enough to say, “Try me, bitch.”


	17. Unknown to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the tags of 'sometimes you're wrong' and 'sometimes you're oblivious'. Unknown to you, we delve into the struggles of Sunstreaker as he finds support in the 'unruliest' of places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dialogue heavy BS.  
> And a real treat for myself as I get to flesh out one of my favorite characters. 
> 
> Remember, kids:  
> Drinking on the job = BAD.  
> Open Communication to avoid an agonizing slowburn: GOOD.

You were made into a leader overnight.

As exaggerated and dramatic as that sounded, it was unfairly true. You literally had this team handed to you without a moment’s notice. No training, just _figure it out_. It wasn’t like you were submissive and subdued, you were just quiet and did as you were told without much objection. You were not raised as a dominant type, and whether it was because of the times or the events that required you to be more of a support than a guide, you never had the itch to take charge. You were more of a _do-it-yourself_ type.

Henri was similar to you but worse. He deferred to you often, and that may have laid the groundwork for you being as independent as you are now. Alan was a whole other story. He was loud, assertive, and certainly _taking_ _shit from nobody_ , but hardly any of that was directed at you. _Hardly_. You often remembered the young punk demanding you to _‘do whatever the fuck you want’_. It sounded trite and silly, but it was that kind of attitude that pushed you to do exactly that when you were enrolling in college, despite the fourth of your tight circle of friends begging you otherwise.

Your tragic plane-crash of a separation with Bethany Beller was a whole other story, but that was not the reason why she left you.

Leading a team was tough. When it was you working alone, you had little room to doubt. Your failures were your own. Now, your choices affected everyone. You had to not only remain a pillar of support, but delegate and rely on those you held up. Even worse, you _cared_ for your team. You wanted to make sure they were well and working at optimal capacity. Only when you knew they were unhindered by outside stressors, was when you could allow yourself some semblance of relaxation, of _trust_.

If it wasn’t for Holly LeTene, you would probably just do all the work yourself while your team rehearsed scenes from _Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street_. Your neurology and radiology specialists had a set of pipes and moves they loved showing off. You didn’t mind that sometimes you’d walk in on a figurative Broadway stage. Everyone needed a distraction and a way to blow off some steam. Not everyone was enthralled with the aliens as you were.

And _enthralling_ they were. After First Aid scanned your biometrics and you gave yourself the all-clear, he went over Sunstreaker’s body with you, correcting any misinformation the narcissistic Autobot had told you. The medic even opened him up and gave you a quick lesson of their inner-workings, and there were several times he had checked on you with _does your little fluid-pump always go that fast?_

You were _in love_. This was a whole other field of biology, and you were lost in this blissful torrent of knowledge. How many people were able to see and learn about the cybernetic organs of an alien race?! The universe was massive, and you were an infant among the stars, still studying organisms twenty nanometers small. In another life, you would pursue a career in studying the Cybertronians and helm the development of intergalactic relations and the study of xenobiology. The thought of it made you weep with _what could have been_.

“Ma’am, you’re snoring.”

You jerked your head upright, and Holly expertly pulled away the root concealer brush before you painted your forehead. Your neck ached sharply from dozing off while cocked at a ninety-degree angle, whimpering as you tried to rub it away. A quick survey of your once empty lab shown a few had snuck in during your nap.

Holly held out her compact mirror, and you didn’t recognize who you saw. Your grays were painted over, but nothing would save you from the dark circles under your eyes, or your sallow lips and ashen cheeks. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a full night of sleep.

“You’re too young to have so many gray hairs coming in. You’re stressed, and it shows,” Holly hummed, stuffing the cosmetic in her bag and pulling out a blush brush. You waved her off, refusing to wear make-up. This was a lab, not a _pageant_. Your assistant, though, had her reasons. “You must look like you have things under control. Some of the others are afraid of what’s going on, and they look to you for guidance. I can only reassure them so much.”

“Reassure them? We have a back-up plan if things go south,” You said, and she confirmed hesitantly.

“They trust you, Ma’am, but they don’t like what you intend to do if things _go south_ ,” she lowered her voice as more entered the lab.

You followed suit, “No one’s supposed to _like it_ , but it’s what we got. They’re in a position for complete deniability –"

“While you take the fall,” She finished for you, “we are not comfortable with that – _I_ am not comfortable with that.”

You wanted to smile, _tried to_ , but even your face was tired. “It’s only a contingency plan.”

“I have better ones,” she clipped.

You snorted, “That involves convincing Prowl to conduct a _hostile takeover_.”

“He doesn’t need much convincing, Ma’am.”

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh, “It won’t come to _any_ of that. We’ve flown under the radar for this long. The investigation should come to a close, eventually.”

“With Agent Simmons’ renewed fixation on you, there is doubt in that.” Holly produced a Styrofoam cup of coffee as black as oil, and while you threw it back like a shot of liquor, she said, “He came in the lab looking for you, and started asking your subordinates general questions about you. It unnerved the team.”

You cleared your throat of the coffee-phlegm you would call Seymour, because he made you feel sick and slimy every time you heard his name. More of your team filed in, rolling in little stools they _appropriated_ from other departments. You did a quick count, and nearly everyone was here. You didn’t blame them for being late. It was _very_ early. _Too early_. 

The sky was still dark, and the facility was barely full of employees. It was the only time you knew Agent Seymour Simmons was still sleeping, or just waking up – either way, he was _not here_. Bless everything about your assistant for coordinating this last-minute meeting, and providing your team with goods from the bakery in that far-away town.

“How was our patient, yesterday?” Holly asked, brushing a bit of concealer under your eyes.

You feebly batted her away, “Quiet and helpful.”

“Really? _Ce petit merde_?” She easily deflected your hands, and you gave up and let her do as she pleased. Holly held your chin, as one would while inspecting a show-dog, and continued to pull makeup from her bag-of-holding without even a single glance. “So different from before. He is usually so loud, like a rude little child, always kicking and screaming for sweets.”

You hummed in agreement as she painted your lips.

“He must be in a great deal of pain to be emotionally shutting down. We should take a look at him.”

You blinked a few times before knitting your brows together, “He’s never said anything, and he would.”

Sunstreaker would _definitely_ openly complain if he was suffering, as he always had, and he _lived_ with you. You knew there was some trauma to him being human, but being _quiet_ wasn’t one of the ways he would express his pain. _Right_? So, it stands to reason that he was fine.

“You talk with him often?” Holly asked, still focused on her artistry.

You _mmhmm_ ed, and she continued, “Is he pleasant to talk to?”

You softly snorted a laugh, and a smile betrayed that, lately, he _was_ nice to talk to. He was funny and enchanting, at times. You tried your best not to move your mouth as you said, “ _Mmhnn_. He smiles a lot more, now.”

Holly paused taking in everything your face was telling her with an arched a brow. “Tell me, he smiles when you smile?”

“I don’t know.” What a strange question. Your brows went askew, “Why?”

She responded with taking your chin and angling your face up more, brushing on blush. “ _Et tu es censé être un genie_ ,” She muttered under her breath, then spoke up, “In the event that he is not informing you, I strongly recommend a complete psyche eval. We still need to closely monitor the patient for any signs of neurological distress.”

You peered, “Only if you tell me what you just said.”

“Talking to myself, Ma’am. Your cheekbones are perfect for this kind of color,” she said, and you had your suspicions. Unfortunately, you had to take her word for it as you tried to nod under that iron grip.

“Proceed with the evaluation. Keep me broached on any issues.”

Eventually, she finished, and you still didn’t recognize yourself in her little compact mirror. Now you were _too_ healthy-looking. She didn’t glitz you up like you were about to go out to a fancy gala. She made you look _presentable_ , like your life wasn’t currently a sleepless dumpster fire.

“I’m going to wipe this all off within the hour,” you muttered, already fighting the urge to wipe your eyes.

The younger woman sniffed, and you caught a defeated sigh to her words, “I know.”

You crossed your arms in an attempt to trap your hands, surveying your team. They were already imbibing on the oil-black coffee and pastries, eagerly seeking that sugary jump-start they all craved. They were all here, seated and sleepily chatting to one another. You couldn’t delay this any longer.

You began, “Your attention, please. Thank you all for making it this morning. I know I’ve kept many of you in the dark with what I’ve been doing, and I appreciate every one of you keeping up appearances.”

A lump started to grow in your throat, and you struggled to swallow it down. “I don’t know what I’ve done to earn a team like you. I can't find the words to express how grateful I am. I haven’t had a meeting with you all in what feels like...since that day the investigators came...if you call that a meeting. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as often.”

You witnessed the sobering effect your words had. Weary slouches straightened as everyone put their serious faces on, glancing at one another. Jane was the first one to speak up, “It’s alright, Doctor. You don’t need to apologize.”

Collective nods from all around the room were paired with a sea of voices. You had a hard time keeping track of who was who.

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

“I got bit by one of the new rats. I think I would rather commit crimes against the country.”

“Was it the one with the big ears? He’s a little shit.”

“Have you been with the aliens, Doctor?”

“If the feds don’t take her, one of those things will step on her.”

“Not funny.”

“Do you know anything about the investigation?”

_Snap! Snap! Snap!_ Holly stood beside you, snapping her fingers like the rudest patron demanding service. Everyone fell to militant silence, waiting.

You closed your eyes for a few beats, replaying some of the questions in your head. When you opened your eyes, your dutiful assistant had a second cup of coffee held out for you. You took a grateful sip before answering, “Yes, I need help. I don’t want to ask any of you for it, but I need help. With the constant scrutiny of the agents, my time trying to reverse what happened to Sunstreaker is limited. I spent the last couple of days at the Autobot facility getting new information to work with. It’s a lot. I need my team to help sort everything.”

The Medical Researcher specializing in neurology raised her hand and didn’t wait for you to acknowledge her before saying, “Ma’am, the rumor is that there's _one_ agent who has been taking up your time. The guy leading this all –"

“Patricia!” Holly hissed, but she couldn’t keep the inquiring eyes from searching you for answers. Everyone heard, and everyone speculated.

You sighed, exhausted and irritated, “Its fine. Please, address your questions and doubts with me. I would rather you ask then think I'm up to any...inappropriate behaviors. Yes, Lead Investigator Agent Simmons was, and possibly still is, requesting my presence a little too often for it to be professional. It’s...awkward.”

Murmurs for clarification encouraged you to elaborate, “I will very clearly state I do not want any relationship beyond work with that man. He’s been a nuisance, to say kindly. Not only has his presence forced us to take desperate measures to protect us and our project, but he demands my time away from my work – and no he doesn’t _demand_ , but with his position of authority, and my position of not wanting to arouse suspicion, or be the object of retaliation, it might as well be an order when he _asks_ me to lunch.”

Your staff looked at one another, muttering and breathing out words of concern and sympathy. Holly directed herself to the group, “If you were wondering about the time of this meeting, it was to avoid the possible run-in with the Agent.”

_He_ was the reason they had to get up so early. Concern and sympathy towards you quickly became a few pitchforks short of an angry mob. You let them talk amongst themselves as you picked up a file from the stack beside you. You opened it, revealing your personal notes on the inner-workings of the average Cybertronian, and in turn, Sunstreaker. You cringed at the sloppy penmanship, but what would you expect at three A.M? Still, sleepless or not, it was an experience with First Aid you wouldn’t trade for anything. You held the pages out to Holly.

“Could you make copies of this for everyone?”

“Would you like me to rewrite it? Make it legible?” She glanced over it with a disapproving arch to her brow.

You snorted, “It’s not _that_ bad.”

“You drew a picture of a kidney, instead of writing out _kidney_.”

“That’s a liver.”

“Yes,” Holly sighed, “Of course, _nourrisson géant_ , my mistake. I’ll get right on this.”

You moved on with the meeting and addressed everyone. “If there are no more questions, I’d like to go over our new focus, today.”

When they quieted, you gestured to the stacks of files and papers beside you, “I mentioned earlier that I had visited the Autobot base, yesterday. Lead Tech-En Faireborn worked with their scientist on rendering the data they had on the offline shell of Sunstreaker. It took all night to process the data through the cipher program, and even longer to organize it for you all.” You paused, a little out of breath, “I'm...very tired, so if you see typos or mistakes, please go to Holly.”

You downed the rest of your coffee before continuing, “All of you are familiar with Jetfire and some of the data on energon that he kindly provided. He’s brilliant, but this is not his expertise. Their medic on duty here, First Aid, has also hit a wall. For all intents and purposes, they have a dead body on their table. We don’t.”

You filled your lungs a few times, fighting this freight train called fatigue, “So we exchanged data, and he did get some information that may be of some interest to us. It seems the Autobot _brain_ can keep logs – memories, and that may help us find some answers. Or, give us more questions, I don’t know. My eyes started crossing.”

That pulled some groans and chuckles from the room. You slouched, hanging your head and rubbing your eyes till you searched the cosmos for a brief respite. The growing chatter seemed hopeful, but you couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, was said. You were beyond tired, you were _frayed_.

Holly took the stack of files beside her exhausted boss, and let the medical specialists choose which case they would study and work on. Then, the loud _bang_ of the door swinging open had your eyes snap open. Your first reaction wasn’t a common one for you. You were primed to launch yourself at this intruder and claw their eyes out. You wanted it to be Seymour Simmons. At least in a jail cell, you could get some sleep.

It wasn’t the agent. It was Alan, and he was pissed. _Again_. “I told you to give your files to your assistant and go straight to the medic.”

You stood slowly, still feeling the threads of this frazzled adrenaline twitch your lip and fingers. You clenched your hands against your temples, “I’m going to say this _one last time_ : If I go, then a report is made. That report can get viewed by these government agents that can send us to _fucking_ jail!”

“Find a way around it!” Alan did not back down and certainly didn’t care that he had an audience. In fact, he addressed them with a theatrical swing of his arm, “This is the second time she got electrocuted, and this bitch thinks she's Thor of motherfucking Asgard. You’re a fucking doctor –"

“So is First Aid! My scans looked fine!”

“Doctor _Beep-Boop_ is a medic for _ro-bots!_ Not _pee-pole_! _”_

“Don’t call them _robots_ ,” You gasped, but you weren't _really_ surprised. “Why is everything out of your mouth so offensive?”

“I’ll take a look at her.”

You both turned to Jane, mouth filled with her third Cinnabon, “Any of us could. We practice medicine. How hard will it be to keep it off the books?”

“Not hard,” Holly confirmed, completely unfazed at what must have been a common occurrence. “We should have a contingency plan, just in case. A small discrepancy to hide a bigger one.”

“Yeah, if Agent Jackass McGoo comes around, just tell him she was too embarrassed – say she got crotch-itch or something.” Alan immediately dodged a doughnut in the style of a ninja.

You hissed, “Get the _fuck_ out.”

He didn’t argue. With a triumphant grin and free breakfast at his feet, he stuffed it in his mouth as he let himself out.

You sighed out a groan and returned to your seat, all the while muttering, “How am I still friends with him? How?”

Your lids were just starting to close before you felt a hand on your arm. You found the calm, level-headed gaze of your assistant. She spoke in that trademark firm, yet gentle tone, “Come with us, Ma’am. Let’s get you in a bed and start testing while you rest.”

~*~

Unknown to you, Sunstreaker was suffering _so_ much, and he did so silently.

He expected so much from the Autobots, that they would have _at least_ figured out something about what happened to him, or how to get him out. They had about as much as you. _Nothing_.

That wasn’t entirely true. You had a way with making him feel... _better_. He ran his thumb over his fingers, remembering when you first held his hand. Lacing his fingers in yours, it felt like the security of a tether to keep from floating off the hull during rivet duty. You anchored him, and you did it at your own expense.

The warmth of flesh made you uncomfortable. The warmth of his kind, though? He saw it when Sideswipe was touching you. He saw the crease of your eyes when you smiled, how you leaned into his servos, and when you touched and talked to him. He also saw the look in his brother’s optics, that slaggin’ glitch. He would get a little sparkbroken, once he figured out you were monogamously devoted to one of your own kind. Sunstreaker wasn’t jealous, but he was conflicted. He liked seeing you let your guard down, but it wasn’t with _him_. If he was back in his original body, you could, and you would smile like that for him.

But that’s fragging stupid! If he was back in his body, he would transfer to a base in a remote area without a single organic in sight and _beg_ for a ride home. You would get your sad little domicile all to yourself, you would get your bondmate back, and reproduce like you organics always did. You would die after several hundred years or however long you lived and _how long does Sunstreaker have with you before you expired?_

Sunstreaker closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Every so often, he had these feelings, these _conflictions_. He wanted to share them with you, to find out if these were his own or your sparkmate’s, but every time you thought of your bonded, you looked so _sad_. He kept his struggles to himself. He liked it when you talked to him, and your eyes lit up when he would tell you stories of Kaon, and you smiled for _him_. He didn’t want to ruin it.

He opened his eyes, staring at the back of that painted human, Alan Faireborn, as he hunched over that portable computer, typing with one hand while the other was occupied with a beer. To get a better view, Sunstreaker leaned over from his seat on the floor. The computer was plugged into a terminal within this video archive room, and on screen was a fuzzy image of a video. He nearly made out his blurred frame. It was footage from the day of the explosion.

His thoughts turned to you, again. You were electrocuted that day, _badly_. Yesterday, you were hit again as you were right next to him. He got the strong impression – if Alan’s reaction was a reliable measurement to go off of – that organics don’t handle direct currents of electricity well. They exploded or turned into a pile of ash if your earthling films were anything to go off of.

Sunstreaker was left in this man’s care for the day to keep up appearances, but it didn’t mean he had to _talk_ to him. If he wanted to know about _you_ , though...

“Is she seeing a medic, today?”

At first, it didn’t appear that Alan would acknowledge his question. When the fleshy Autobot resigned himself to quietly wondering – _not fretting_ – over your wellbeing, he got his answer.

“Her own minions are looking her over. Haven’t heard anything new, since.”

_Good_. At least you were being seen to. Sunstreaker would be sorely put out if you were replaced due to injury, _because he was getting used to you_ – he just didn’t want to deal with anyone new. You were a lot more tolerable than the rest of these bloodbags, and nicer to look at – because you had a decent frame, _that’s all_.

Alan spoke up again, _thank Primus._ “What about you, man. You were standing there when she got zapped. You gonna get checked out, just in case?”

“I’m sure she’ll insist once she’s functioning optimally,” He muttered. He didn’t know what you looked like when you were _functioning optimally_. You were always tired. He wondered if you would ever party with him and his brother, like some of these wriggling, blurry memories had shown. You laughed a lot more. For curiosity’s sake, because he was curious, _he was allowed to be curious_.

“More than likely,” the tech turned more, “Now that it’s just us, and I can smash your face with a number of tools that I got on my belt, why the _fuck_ were you trying to hold her hand?”

Sunstreaker bristled at the threat, but balked at the accusation, “What are you talking about?”

“Aww don’t start playing cute now. You’re wearing the face I want to hit so badly, and I can only hold back so much,” Alan warned.

Despite the odd threat to causing harm on his comrade’s body, the Autobot shifted in his seat slightly to prepare for that freight train. “You’re mistaken. I helped her up.”

“I'mma share something with you. People don’t think I’m very smart. They think I’m some asshole that doesn’t care about whatever goes on around him. Sometimes, that’s true. Sometimes, this omniscient presence tells me to pay attention, and I do, and then I _know_ things that are _incredibly_ relevant.”

Sunstreaker blinked, equal parts confused and concerned, “You...hear voices? Do you, like...talk to Primus or whoever you humans –"

“Last chance,” Alan cut him off and pushed aside his computer to a safe place.

The alien wasn’t cowed into submission, but rather wanting to clarify the situation, because he only cared for you as an ally – nothing more. Primus help him, if he ever got his body back and this painted menace was around, he would like to see this _presence_ save this creature. “She held my hand the day before. I wanted to return the favor when she was distressed.”

Alan was mentally slapped, “You guys held hands?”

“Not long. Like, barely felt it. Hardly any prolonged contact,” He defended, “Does...does your kind normally not touch like that?”

The tech blinked, still reeling, “No, no, people do, like a buncha gross grade-schoolers.”

“Oh yeah, organic contact, totally gross.” 

“But you giant robots...hold _hands?”_

“Sometimes,” Sunstreaker said slowly.

“Two trucks, holdings hands?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Primus, fleshling, _yes_. Tactile contact is completely normal and accepted with my kind. Can we please move on?”

Alan pressed his palm to his brow, shaking his head. “That’s so fucking adorable, it’s more than I can withstand.”

Silence fell between them for a few heartbeats before Sunstreaker said quietly, “Does she not like it when anyone touches her?”

“Yeah,” he said in a somber sigh, “She used to be a hugger, y’know? When I went through my dreadlock phase, she would play with my hair. She liked sitting by people, crowding them and sticking her gross-ass feet under ‘em. Annoying as fuck when I wanted space.” He paused a moment, eyes fixated on nothing, but he never looked so far away. “I miss it.”

You weren't always like this. You weren't lying when you said you developed an aversion – not that he thought you were – but he had his doubts that it was only with him, because of _who_ he looked like. Whatever trauma you faced alone, it affected everyone. The blond leaned in with interest, “What changed?”

“Fuckin’ Henri and his dumbassery. It always begins with that. Remember that best friend I mentioned? The one that abbra-ca- _fucking_ -dabra-ed out? That bitch left after Eve refused to take Henri off life-support. That’s when I noticed she started shutting people out. Even me.”

Sunstreaker remembered that night in the bar, listening to this man talk about how reliable you were, and hinting how much you suffered. His mind drifted to the image of that photograph he found of you and your comrades, and how one of them was obviously absent.

“She used to lay next to him,” Alan continued, “and I don’t know when it happened, but you’d think she realized she was laying next to a corpse. Something in her brain switched, and she started to become distant and cold and just real fucking different. I ain’t a therapist, but I know a defense mechanism when I see one.”

So, if he was a mech, he could easily pick you up and hold you, and you wouldn’t mind one bit. You would actually prefer it. To think, if you liked how Sideswipe was handling you... 

“And I see you being just as different. What's your deal, eh?”

Sunstreaker jolted, like he was caught thinking of _absolutely nothing_. “What do you mean?”

Alan sighed out a long grumble, “Will you stop being coy for a few minutes, for fuck’s sake? You’re quiet, you’re _helpful_. I see you chatting with Eve with a dumb-ass grin and you’re being _nice_.”

The gunner shielded himself from these allegations, “You told me to treat her like she’s got fraggin’ _goldplastic_ syndrome. I’m doing the best I can – and why does everyone call her different names?”

“I’m a one-syllable kind of guy and don’t change the subject, redirection doesn’t work on me.” He pointed at him, “You’re not the type to listen to me or _anyone_. What the hell is up with you?”

Sunstreaker sneered, “What’s it matter to you?”

“It matters because my best friend cares, and if there's shit going on with you that you’re not sharing with her, and it fucks with you – it becomes her problem,” Alan explained firmly, “And if it’s her problem, it becomes _mine_. Do I have to punch a problem in the face?”

He stared at him, getting a read. This painted human was obviously your _amica_ – your friend and comrade, but damn was he _fierce_ about it. The threat wasn’t what made him talk. It was the opportunity to find a way to fill this gap, this emptiness that grew. To find a _connection_. But _frag-it-all_ it felt like he was scraping the bottom of the insecticon pit.

“I don’t want to upset her,” Sunstreaker said, a bit more timidly than he wanted.

Alan worked his jaw, blinking, and processing, “With what?”

“Sometimes, I can’t tell which impulses are mine, or the meatbag I’m in.” He couldn’t look him in the eyes as he spoke.

The man leaned in, his brows furrowed, “What _kind_ of impulses?”

Sunstreaker let his irritation be known, “ _Feelings_ , like I have this annoying little impulse to drink that nasty slag with you and treat you like I would my brother – but _nicer._ Then there’s Eva...I...she’s...” he trailed off. He didn’t know _how_ to explain you – or rather didn’t want to share how he was becoming _fond_ of you, but was it _him_? Was it completely his experiences with you that turned you into a _friend_?

“She’s... _what_?” Alan had this tone that edged on threat level mama-bear.

He snapped out of it, answering heatedly, “I don’t want these _feelings_ that aren’t mine to dictate what I do. I can act for myself. I have been treating her as a comrade because a soldier would sacrifice for another. I don’t _need_ any influence to know that.”

“Oh,” He looked the alien over a few times, suspiciously, “Yeah, makes sense. I don’t think tellin’ her all that would freak her out _too_ much. Unless you’re more worried about your image as a bastard.”

“My _image_ is already ruined, bloodbag.”

Alan snorted a laugh and turned back to his computer. The silence fell back between them, save for the rapid typing and obnoxiously disgusting gulps. Sunstreaker leaned back against the wall again, losing himself in the blinking lights of the terminals that lined the room.

He replayed what the man said about his image. You seemed to like it when he told you about himself, when he was brazen, and cocky, and showy, and _he really needed to get back in his body_. Then, and only then, he could see the same admiration in your eyes that you had for Bluestreak and Jetfire. He witnessed you have this kind of _glow_ , like everything that was happening was just _not_. He wanted you to look at him in the same way.

But he was limited in this disgusting meatsack. Weak, and small, and slow, with only a bipedal mode, _ugh!_ Sunstreaker was an ace shot with a blaster, superior in melee combat, capable of leading a team, and had more kills than you had brain cells – but none of it mattered while he was like _this_. He wanted you to see, to be impressed. He bet you would be swept away if he was back in his body, and he would know for sure that when you looked at him, you would see him, and only _him_.

Then there was _that_. Why did he care? Was he being influenced? Was this squishy data module making him feel fondly towards you? Or was it because of how you cared, and you _actually cared_ , and he knew that you did but there was all this _doubt_! One thing was absolutely clear: you were risking a lot to help him. He knew a selfless action when he saw one, and that was something admirable. Those feelings were true to him, and him alone.

The door opened, and Alan set his drink out of sight and pressed a few keys on the terminal in one fluid motion. He grunted with obvious disdain as Agent Simmons stepped inside, “Afternoon, Mr. Faireborn and Mr. Striker. You wouldn’t happen to know Doctor Morgan’s whereabouts?”

“Have you asked her assistant?” Alan responded cheekily, already knowing the answer.

“I have,” He frowned, “She says she’s indisposed.”

“Hmm,” he clipped, “Who woulda thought, she has a _job_.”

Agent Simmons glared a moment, then righted himself as if everything was dandy. “Have you received my request?”

“I’m working on the video, now. It’s corrupt, but maybe someone on your team could clean it up.” Alan responded, regarding the man with wary inspection, “Kinda weird that you asked me, and not one of your own.”

Agent Simmons’s eyes lit up. The small smile appeared as pleasant, but to Sunstreaker seemed as slimy as any conniving Decepticon, “I trust you to cooperate, Mr. Faireborn. You’ve given me no cause to suspect foul-play, despite your record.”

Alan’s nostrils flared as he boldly held the gaze of the suited man. He struggled with himself in this quiet moment and ended up taking the bait, “We all have our faults. Some people drink and do stupid shit. Some can't stop acting like an asshole to others. Some use their rank to get away with harassing women – I could go on, but y’know, _work_.”

Sunstreaker slowly looked from one man to another, very much wishing he was with you, instead. Your alpha-male comrade was about to throw down, and there was only so much he could do in this limited frame.

Alan continued, “I should really get back to it. Cleaning up this video may cut into lunch. Glad I have that option to eat and do my work at the same time without someone bothering me.”

Agent Simmons kept a straight face, “Of course, but do remember, taking breaks does wonders for the personality.”

“Buh-bye, now,” The tech quipped as the door shut.

Sunstreaker exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he held. He didn’t want to admit that he was afraid. Not of that man, but the damage he could cause. He knew – he _hoped_ the Autobots would rescue him if he was ever taken by your government. But you? Who would rescue _you_? He hissed, “What were you _thinking_?”

“Fucking piece of shit, bringing up my record. Sunnova mother-bitch cock-sucking dick-wad –"

“Hey,” He called for his attention.

“ _What_?” Alan snapped back.

“Do you _want_ to get deactivated?”

The tech sat back against the wall, downing the rest of the can. After a belch, he tossed his keyboard aside, “He’s playing mind-games. He already had one of his gremlins pull the tape. He’s seeing if I’ll do anything to compromise it.”

Sunstreaker peered, “How are you so sure? Was it that...voice?”

“Common fuckin’ sense. There are cameras all around this place, and he thought I wouldn’t check to see who came in _here_ to snoop around? I play enough poker to know when someone thinks they got a good hand.” He snorted, crossing his arms, “And you see how he tried to rile me up when I pointed out about how it was weird he was having _me_ do this? He was trying to throw me off-balance. Fuckers gotta try a little harder than that.”

“Is that vid file going to be a problem?” He felt his spark-chamber rattle with panicked energy. If they saw it, what incriminating evidence would they find on _you_?

“I pulled that shit the night you got a new identity.” He smirked, “I got a guy trying to clean up the original footage, but somehow the copy here is so corrupt, no amount of cleaning or rendering will fix this. Wonder how _that_ happened.”

“You...” Sunstreaker blinked, hands out to display his astonishment to the man, “I have been wrong about you.”

“No, you haven’t. I still hate you.” Alan reached in his lunch bag and popped open another beer, “I did this for that little nerd. If she wasn’t involved, I wouldn’t give two shits about what's going on. I take good care of my friends, man. If you understand that, then you understand me.”

His hands dropped, frowning as the tattooed man continued, “Besides, he _did_ get under my skin, not because he thought he was one step ahead of me, but the balls to bring up my record – especially in front of my _employee_ – Fuckin’ unprofessional, man. And to walk in here all cocky as Hugh Hefner with a gaggle of models? No, I needed to knock him down here with the rest of us and plant that seed.”

“I barely understood anything you just said.” The Autobot-turned-flesh huffed, “How is you planting vegetation have anything to do with –"

“God Sunshit, sometimes it physically hurts to talk to you,” he groaned unnecessarily loud, “think about it. What I said is in his head now. If _I_ think he’s harassing women, and _I’m_ friends with Eve, now he has this tiny voice giving him all this doubt. If he doesn’t think he’s bothering her, then he’ll wonder. If he knows he’s deliberately harassing her in hopes to get his dick wet, then he knows _everyone_ knows – because why would some little shit like me with a _record_ keep his mouth shut?”

Sunstreaker had so many questions, but he picked only one, “What do you mean when you say you have a ‘ _record’_?”

Alan was quiet a moment, taking a long sip of his drink, “After the bullshit with Henri, I did the one thing everyone expected me to do. I got blackout drunk and got into a fight. I got hurt, but the other guy was worse. Got arrested for assault.”

For the first time, Sunstreaker could relate. The war that raged for...how long? How many millions of years? Compare that to these creatures that barely live for a few centuries – or was it less? He actually understood and found himself a little shaken. _Were your species so similar?_

“I was ready to go to jail. I didn’t care anymore. I haven’t talked to my family in years and they didn’t give a shit about me. My best friend was brain-dead and everyone thought it was because of my stupid-ass, and the one person I called family thought I did it, too.”

Sunstreaker didn’t care. He didn’t care for these human dramas. You had more baggage than an Autobot frigate could handle, and he already had enough on his servos. But...

Maybe this would help him sort out himself and keep this organic’s emotions separate from his. Getting to know your background better would be a tactical side benefit. _Tactical_. Because he was a soldier that thought _tactically_. “But you’re not incarcerated.”

“Yeah, you can thank Eve for that,” Alan growled out a sigh, settling back against the terminal. “She forced a good lawyer down my throat, her dad pulled a lot of strings, and I got probation when I shouldn’t have. She said she didn’t want to lose anyone else – and that’s what stings the most. She has the most reason to let me drown. I was at a bar that night with my friends, but I don’t remember calling Henri to pick me up. I got drunk, but not _that_ drunk. Do you know what that’s like? To be forgiven for something you don’t remember doing? That you’re _sure_ you didn’t do?”

Sunstreaker lowered his head, searching his hands for an answer. He had to agree that it was strange you stayed with the alleged one responsible for your sparkmate’s condition, but at the same time, he wasn’t surprised. The Autobot saw you display a lot of characteristics that reminded him of Optimus, and there was a reason he was made into a leader.

He had nothing but an honest observation, “You don’t seem like the type of human who would care.”

“Anyone else, I wouldn’t. I said I take care of my friends. And her? She’s _family_.”

Sunstreaker found himself wondering if you ever mentioned this man being related to you, “Like Sideswipe and I? Humans are bonded by their sparks – _er_ fluid-pumps?”

Alan palmed his brow, “I’m never talking to you again.”

“It’s a legit question! I don’t fraggin’ know this complex glitch-ridden lifestyle you organics have.”

He rubbed his eyes, seeking to escape this dimension the same way you usually tried. With another irritated sigh, he answered, “No, not _literally_. It’s a funny story, how we met. I was that average greaser that never went to class, and Henri was one of the guys I would shake-down for some cash. One day, she caught me but had no _fuckin’_ clue that I was threatening that little nerd. She invited me over for dinner, because she thought Henri and I were _friends_. He was too much a coward to correct her with me standing right next to him.”

Sunstreaker couldn’t hold back the laughter that burbled up. Your choice in bondmates was pathetic. He grasped that because of your gender, you were considered weaker, but _Primus_ , that was viscerally untrue. Did you seek a weaker companion on purpose? Were you oblivious to it all? You _were_ pretty oblivious, sometimes. Most of the time. _All of the time_. “Did you go?”

“Damn straight I did. Clueless girl like that, nice clothes and an ace student, all privileged and sheltered. I was going to case the place and break-in later.” Alan shook his head, chewing his lip, “She was _nice_ , and I hated her for it. I wanted her to know that there were bad people in this world. Then I met her dad, Mark. He was trying to fix a computer and had this soldering kit that I had my eye on. It looked new, and easy to pawn off. Then he showed me how to use it. Then he _gave_ it to me, and said I had a talent.”

The Autobot wasn’t surprised this man came from a shady past. He practically announced it with his unruly demeanor. With the look on Alan’s face, he already knew the answer before asking, “Did you end up burglarizing the home?”

“I ended up moving in with them,” He looked up, and his eyes were a little bleary from the memories. “My dad was a drill sergeant, _not_ a father, not like Mark. She became a sister; Henri, my brother, and Ivan Arkeville became that shitty uncle no one liked. I got back into school because of them. My own dad wanted to put me straight into the military as soon as I turned eighteen. Markus Morgan gave me a choice, and he helped me through college.”

He finished off his can and tossed it across the room, “I miss those days. Sitting at their table for dinner, working on his shitty car, Frankensteining a supercomputer, _those were the days_. _That’s_ what families are supposed to feel like, man.”

Sunstreaker glanced about in thought before calling him out, “But you’re so rude to her.”

“I do it out of love,” Alan snorted, smiling to himself and getting lost in his head, “You see the shit she’s gotta deal with? If she can handle what I throw at her, then anything these guys give her amounts to _nothing_.”

Sunstreaker didn’t know what more to ask. He now had a deeper understanding of why this man was so protective and loyal to you, and it was very similar to how he felt about his own brother. He would tear the galaxy asunder if anything happened to him. He could only imagine what Alan would do for you.

“Man, tell me. I need you to tell me,” his tone quieted and carried a weariness that the soldier was all too familiar with, “Do you know what happened? Why did Henri take off that night? Why did he say that I called him? Did I? What the fuck happened?”

Everything that this man had done to him, Alan deserved no kindness, but like you, this creature _evolved_ before his eyes. He _cared_ about you, _cared_ about his comrades. Sunstreaker found this man relatable on many levels.

Whether he felt compelled because of the influencing memories, or his own judgment, he answered honestly, “I don’t know. A lot of it is blurry, and none of it makes sense. I catch blips here and there, but mostly, it’s just the emotional programming of this human. It’s fraggin’ frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Alan reached in his bag, pulling out two cans of that nasty slag and rolling one his way, “That does sound fuckin’ frustrating. We’ll be here all day if you feel like talking a little more about it.”

~*~

You dozed in and out of the entire day, just barely waking when your staff would come to take samples or run any other routine tests, but most of the time the lights were dim and you were left alone. Your sleep was fitful, but it was the best you could get with everything eating away at the edges of your mind.

Where were Sunstreaker, Alan, and Seymour? What were they doing? Was Doctor Arkeville still working on getting your equipment? Why did you get shocked by an offline Cybertronian? How was Sunstreaker after that incident? What were those new reports going to bring to light? When would the government agents close their investigation? When would Seymour _leave_?

There were so many, many more unanswered questions, but somehow you managed to sleep until the sound of your assistant woke you. Holly was using her loud, commanding voice. She _rarely_ yelled. Red flags called for you to sit up immediately, just in time for the door to open and the lights to come on.

“Government agent or not, you cannot barge into a patient’s room without express permission. This violates Patient Rights and HIPAA, and I will have to be forced to report this!” Holly was hot on Agent Simmons’ heels, but he was unconcerned. He didn’t pay any attention to the shorter woman, buzzing around him with her clipboard. Instead, all his attention was on _you_.

“Are you alright? I’ve been looking for you.” He attempted to cross the way to your medical bed when Holly fearlessly stood in his way.

“What don’t you understand about patient privacy? You did not clearly state that you are actively investigating Doctor Morgan, therefore this is a personal visit, and is _not_ permitted.” The woman stood her ground as the agent loomed over her.

“I have to ask you to step aside, ma’am, or I’ll be forced to add you to my next report.”

Holly was not a woman easily intimidated, “And you can do that at your desk which is in the _other_ building. Go ahead, and I’ll be sure to add your gross negligence of an innocent patient’s privacy, not just a patient, but a woman whom you are _not_ investigating –"

“Holly! Down, girl!” You had to stop her. You did not want things more inflamed than they already were. “It’s ok. Please. No reports from anyone, okay?”

Your short, curly-haired assistant looked over her shoulder at you. She was searching for confirmation or any indication of what you _really_ wanted. You gave a small nod of your head, “It’s alright, really.”

She calmly turned back to Agent Simmons, “Ten minutes. Our patient needs bed-rest.” With that, she skirted around the tall man and left.

He watched her leave and pulled the door closed behind her, “Some guard-dog you got there.”

“Holly knows about as much as any lawyer. She, um, takes the law very seriously. Loves law, you know?” You tried to keep your breath even, tried to remain calm. How did he find you? “What are you doing here?”

He crossed the room to your bedside, “Are you serious? Didn’t you know that I’ve been looking for you all day yesterday and today? Your staff was uncooperative, your assistant continuously told me you were busy, and finally, someone said you weren't feeling well but you never checked in with the medic. I’ve been searching from room to room in this wing before your assistant came snapping –"

“Was it really that urgent you came looking for me _yourself_?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He sounded like a madman hunting you down. You could barely hear yourself over the klaxon alarms in your head. “What happened? What did I do?”

“Nuh-Nothing...” The suave, cool way he spoke was gone. He seemed upset, frantic, “Nothing happened. I just...I did some thinking after we last spoke –"

“You couldn’t leave a message with my assistant? Or anyone?” You cut him off, and judging by the shocked rapid-fire blinking he did, _he was not expecting it_. You continued to drill, to keep him off balance, to make him see how this looked. “You’ve been looking room to room? For me? Agent, you should be too busy with this investigation to be running around hunting me down – and for what? Am I in trouble? Am I no longer cleared? I am not worth your time –"

“You are,” He blurted out, and his mouth opened and closed like a dying largemouth bass. Oh yeah, he really did _not_ expect you to retaliate like this. The Scientist in you documented this behavior and shelved it for later.

“Excuse me?” You said, not hiding your offended squint.

Agent Simmons held up his hand, “Just...give me a minute. Jesus Christ, I didn’t mean to catch you at such a bad time.”

_Catch ME at a bad time? Address everything I just threw at you_! You seethed as you patiently folded your hands in your lap, watching his eyes tracing laps from you to the door and to the floor, processing whatever ping-pong ball bounced around in his head.

He rubbed his mouth, muttering, “Wow...he really rattled me.”

You clenched your jaw as he took his seat _on_ your medical bed right beside your legs. Not even a single question on if he could, he just comfortably sat as if you were long-time friends. The feeling of contact had your anxiety ramp up in more ways than one. You scooted to the edge of your flimsy mattress.

Then, he set his hand on your knee, and you barely heard his voice over the ringing in your ears. “You don’t need to move, you’re fine.”

You were _alone_ with him in a room. A room with a lock. A room that was chosen because it was in a rarely traveled hallway. A hall without cameras. A room where your assistant would come check after...eight? Seven minutes? Too long. You realized, with nauseatingly cold dread, that you put yourself in a _dangerous_ situation.

_Keep him talking_ , the Scientist in you held up an old pocket watch.

Blankets tightly in fist, you asked as professionally as possible, “Since you are here, why did you need to see me?”

“I want to help you.”

Your mind raced in different directions. Did he know? Did he find out about Project: Arkeville, and he wanted to help you out of a bad situation? Or was this the beginning of something worse? You’ve seen enough movies of a dirty cop offering _help_. Was he going to blackmail you? _Or worse_?!

Six minutes. _Please be less than that_.

Your hands started shaking, but your face was never calmer. “In regards to what?”

Agent Simmons seemed excited, grinning like you circled _yes_ on his juvenile love letter. He waved his hand about like you should know. “Last time we talked, you expressed interest in the aliens. I did some looking around, and found out we don’t have an official liaison or a xenobiologist.”

_Oh_. You felt your face sag. Your jaw fell open. This was the _worst_ time to be receiving an employment opportunity. The Scientist in you wept at _what could have been_.

He read your expression however he wanted. “I know, give it a moment to sink in.”

“Agent Simmons, I –"

“Seymour.”

_Semen_. Thanks, Alan. You cleared your throat and your distraction. “I’m a scientist. A medical researcher. I know nothing about the Cybertronians beyond a few cultural traits here and there.”

That was now a bold-faced lie. Because of First Aid, you’ve learned quite a bit. Likened to the three essential needs of humanity: physical, emotional and spiritual, the Cybertronian body had the baseline rule of thirds called Rossum’s Trinity. Yet, there was evidence of survival without the transformation cog or the brain module, just like a human could survive without the emotional or spiritual aspects of their lives. Sunstreaker was a walking miracle, absent of a charged spark, a brain module, and a T-cog. The fascinating thing about a transformation cog was –

The Emotional side of you started to strangle the Scientist into silence because the agent was still talking to you. _Pay attention!_

“...Which is odd, but what's important is that you’ve made connections,” He explained, “You’ve already developed a rapport with many –"

“A few.” Another lie, and it tasted bitter.

“But you’re able to get inside. You’re smart, Miss Morgan. You can learn about what makes them tick, and we can finally have what we need to take them down if they ever become a threat.”

You swallowed sand. The room became stiflingly hot. _You were being offered to infiltrate and betray your friends_.

Agent Simmons arched his brows, and you dared to say it looked like he was concerned at how you lost your poker-face. He smiled sympathetically, “Never thought of that, huh? That these guys got guns the size of a truck, and if they wanted to take us out, we wouldn’t know how to defend ourselves. We need to be prepared, we need to know their weak points.”

They would _never_. You wanted to argue. You would _never_ participate in turning your knowledge into a weapon – that went against the Hippocratic oath! _Primum non nocere_. If they wanted to do anything horrible towards humanity, why did they broker a deal to mine on the planet instead of subjugating? Why are they searching the planet for those who _would_? Maybe you were naïve. Then so be it. You would never turn on any of those faces you came to adore.

“Take some time and think about it,” Agent Simmons said gently, then he sat his hand back down on your leg, just slightly above your knee. “You could quit here and work at main HQ, do something more important than whatever it is you’re doing. We could see each other more. You could work for me.”

The feeling of his hand. That hot, sweaty prickle over your skin. Your voice cowering deep in your throat, choking you. You wanted to throw up this polluted ice that barbed in place in your chest. The timer your alter-ego held shattered into squirming maggots.

He leaned a little closer, “You look a little different, today. Are you wearing makeup? It looks good. Do it more often.”

_Punch him._

Your bed sheets should have rendered to dust in your white-knuckled grip. You didn’t hear Alan’s voice, but _Sunstreaker’s._

_Punch him in his fragging face._

Right as the edges of your vision started to darken, and the agents face was slowly starting to develop a bulls-eye right over his nose, the door flew open again. Holly came bursting in, and you were grateful for only a moment. She was huffing, having just ran the entire span of the wing. Breathlessly, she managed, “Doctor Morgan is awake.”

Agent Simmons glared at her, jerking his head in your direction, “Yes, she is. Do you mind –?"

“Help me.” You threw off the covers, jumping out of bed and throwing open the closet for your clothes.

Holly gave a quick glare at the man as she darted across the room to deftly unhook the IV from her superior. She glanced back at him again, “Please leave.”

He stood and backed up to the door, unable to look away as you hurriedly pulled your patient gown up and over your head. All that was exposed was your bare back and standard white underwear, but it was a vision that held him in place.

Before you could turn in any direction, Holly cleared her throat and pulled the privacy curtain over to shield her boss. Giving one last judgmental glare, she disappeared behind the drape to help, “They said he was stable, but they had to up his morphine drip. He is still experiencing complications from the surgeries.”

“They increased the dosage?” You clasped your slacks closed and moved onto your bra. Holly helped hook it on as you continued to critique the decision, “Dad could slip back in a coma at any moment.”

“He was already at risk from the pain. He was going into shock – I already addressed the concern with the nurse.” 

“Shit,” You cursed as you fumbled with your shirt, “I have to get there _now_. I can't wait-”

Your assistant yanked it down over your head, “I already sent people to contact Engineer Faireborn, and to have a car waiting for you –"

“I just radioed a chopper. It’ll be waiting for us in a few minutes.” Agent Simmons said.

You threw back the curtain, staring at him. You forgot that he was _still here_ , offering help. You struggled within.

“It’ll be ready to take off by the time we get to the helipad.” He opened the door and gestured, “Let’s go.”

Holly suddenly turned you towards her, fixing up your pants zipper, “Go. I’ll get Alan to the hospital. Go see your dad.”

You had questions, and the one man who could give you those answers was awake, _for now_. The clock was ticking.

You left with Agent Simmons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve never had a student, before.” First Aid tapped rapidly on his terminal, pausing to glance up at Jetfire. “Is she always like that? So fixated?”  
> The Jet scientist smiled fondly, looking up from his microscope. “Oh yes. Be careful, though. You’ll get addicted to talking to her – she’s an amazing listener.”  
> “Primus, at least someone is.”  
> Bluestreak came barreling in, and the two bots immediately shielded their workstations. Behind him was the echo of Sideswipe’s cries.  
> “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!”  
> CRASH!  
> “Someone did!” It was Prowl, and he was ANGRY. Per usual.  
> First Aid started to pull Bluestreak from where he hid behind a medical terminal, “Don’t lead him in here, go hide somewhere else!”  
> Jetfire started hurriedly collecting his things from the table he worked on, not trusting the bolts to hold this time.  
> The officer marched in, taking in the chaos born in his wake. His lip curled, baring denta, as he held up a datapad, “Who the HELL went into our communications and changed every warning I sent prior to Doctor Morgan’s recent visit?”  
> Bluestreak wailed, still trying to pull away from the medic, “I swear on every rifle I own, it wasn’t me!”  
> First Aid let him go, paying no attention to the crash of the falling mech that followed. “Why would anyone change your memos?”  
> Prowl marched up to one of the larger computers, bringing up their public forums and selecting the urgent messages he sent to every bot linked to the server. “As an unruly display of disrespect and insubordination! I issued several warnings, upping security to Defcon level three protocols, and each one has been altered.”  
> He displayed his message, pointing at the little icon after every word ‘Defcon.’ “What is this? Someone tell me, NOW.”  
> “Why would WE know!?” First Aid snapped.  
> Jetfire cleared his vocals, crossing his arms and tapping his chin, “I’m afraid I know, sir.”  
> The room stilled as the Jet scientist pointed at the screen, “That...is a cat face. A kind of organic animal that is native to this planet.”  
> Prowl could have snapped the chevron from his helm, “A...cat? Why...WHO? Who would have...?” Then it came to him. The only earthling that had access to their systems, that had to hook up his computer in order to download the information you needed. His frame rattled as he growled, “That painted menace...”  
> He glared at the part of his message that read: Defcon ∑:3
> 
> On the Autobot Orbital Station...in SPACE:  
> Ironhide peeked in Optimus Prime’s office, seeing his leader and friend settling down behind his desk with Ultra Magnus going over the next megacycle’s events. The old, red, warmech butted in, “When yer done, Prime, I’m headin’ to the canteen for a lil’ R n’ R. Yer welcome to join me.”  
> Ultra Magnus cut in before his superior could respond, “Not this time. We have 1984 internal messages to sort through.”  
> Optimus’ faceplate nearly flew off, “1984?!”  
> “1985...”  
> “By the Allspark, they’re still coming?”  
> “1986...”  
> Ironhide sympathized with the burden his leader carried. “Prime, why don’t you take a break first?”  
> Glorious Optimus raised his hand to silence the room, “I appreciate your concern, old friend. My weariness will wait. Obviously, there is something dire, and I must answer the call. Magnus, are you able to tell me what's going on?”  
> “It’s all from Prowl.”  
> “All?”  
> “1990 of them, yes.”  
> “Is planet Earth is dire need? Has the Decepticons taken over? Is it Megatron?” His tone turned somber, “Is it...Sunstreaker?”  
> “No,” Ultra Magnus clipped. “He is requesting redeployment.”  
> Optimus turned slowly to look at Ironhide.  
> “1993 times.”  
> The leader of the autobots slowly stood.  
> “1994 requests, sir.”  
> And Optimus gestured to Ironhide to lead the way. 
> 
> ~~~ For TinyFloofball and their comment on "Defcon :3". You are a gem! ~~~


	18. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this the moment where you find answers? Maybe to the questions you never thought you had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, I disappear for a spell, but when I come back I'm like, "omg there's people doing the talking hearts thing! Hnng!" and it takes me a moment to realize that squealing at the screen doesn't travel well.  
> Much love to all of you. 
> 
> BAM!  
> Medical Research!  
> Generally, when people experience a traumatic event, the body releases two major stress hormones: norepinephrine and cortisol. They boost your heart rate and controls the fight-or-flight response, commonly rising when individuals feel threatened or experience highly emotional reactions.  
> When people experience comfort, social bonding, and (consented) soothing touches, the hormone Oxytocin is released. Oxytocin can induce anti-stress-like effects such as reduction of blood pressure and cortisol levels [also reducing the above-mentioned effects]. It increases pain thresholds, reduces anxiety, and stimulates various types of positive social interaction. In addition, it promotes growth and healing.
> 
> In short:  
> Hugs. Platonically loving hugs.

You never rode in a helicopter before.

Tasting what could have been your spleen wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Several moments in time, it felt like the craft dropped from the sky or was on the verge of rattling apart with how it trembled and jerked. You weren't sure which was the loudest, the rotors or the wind – or maybe it was both. Or neither. Maybe you were hearing the screams of the damned. It was all one giant black-hole of a nightmare. Agent Simmons buckled you up in the _middle_ of the cabin, thank God. You were positive that if you looked down, you would lose the fight of keeping your breakfast. _Yesterday’s breakfast_.

It was already over before you acclimatized and accepted whatever fate would come. You had the vaguest experience of a mild heart-attack as the chopper _fell_ from the sky and landed jarringly on the hospital roof. You didn’t realize your hands were vice-gripped around your harness until Seymour started to unbuckle you. He helped you out of the hell-bird and wordlessly forced your head down as you exited under the still spinning blades. You were met with both security and EMT’s, ready for whatever this unauthorized landing could bring.

You glanced back as the wind picked up, and the helicopter was airborne again and heading off to claim its next victim. You turned back and flashed your government-issued laminate to an EMT, quickly explaining your situation while Agent Simmons barked at the security officers, brandishing his shiny gold badge.

When the doors were open, you were in your element. You’ve only been in this hospital a handful of times, but you knew it. These buildings tend to follow the same layout, and it was familiar, like a maze you solved countless times from the back of a cereal box. You flew through the halls, dodging the hospital staff with Simmons nipping at your heels with _“Do you know where you’re going?”_ and _“Let’s ask that guy for directions,”_ and your favorite, _“Slow down!”_

That only made you sprint faster and practically _leap_ down stairwells. _Keep up._

You made it to the floor of the Intensive Care Unit, flashed your badge at the nurses’ station to confirm your identity, and were let in to find the room your father was housed in. You reached for that stainless steel doorknob, and you _froze._

Agent Simmons was panting behind you.

You turned slowly, taking in his hunched form as he was trying to catch his breath. Didn’t these agents have to be in peak physical condition? No wonder Holly was such a drill sergeant on appearances – this gasping goldfish of a man looked _pathetic_. This wasn’t the time to gloat, but you couldn’t hide your pride, nor keep it from your voice, “Why don’t you stay out here.”

“No...I can... I can be there for you in case...in case you need me,” He said between gulping air, fighting to stand straight.

If he was in the room with you, you wouldn’t be able to talk to your dad about Project: Arkeville. You wouldn’t be able to confront him with how he used you and turned you into a criminal accessory. You wouldn’t be able to ask why he lied to his only daughter. _He lied to you_. Your anger flared and you tried to hide it behind that professional visage.

“Wait out here,” You ordered him as you would your staff.

Agent Simmons flinched as if you told him to _fuck off,_ because you somewhat had. He spoke slowly, “Tensions are a little high, right now. You need –"

“Privacy,” You clipped, “Please, respect my privacy.”

Who could argue with such a blunt request? You were sure he could find a way, so you entered the room before he had the chance, promptly shutting it behind you. You stood by the door a moment, holding your breath and listening. When it became clear Agent Simmons wouldn’t come chasing, you had to work up the nerve to turn around.

The only noise was the soft whirring of machines and the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Now you were alone with the man you had so many questions for. Your father laid there, breathing slowly without the assistance of machines, but with the oxygen mask that skewed his image. He looked frail. You barely recognized him.

You tip-toed across the room to pull his chart, and were immediately agitated by the scratchy writing. You couldn’t make out how much morphine was administered or what other drugs he was under. You scoffed softly. _Doctors_.

Quietly, you returned the clipboard to the slot and sat in one of the chairs beside his bed. You struggled very briefly to wake him before settling on waiting. Everything you had built up, the fiery rage, the burns of feeling betrayed, it all sputtered and smothered out. You pressed your face into your hands; your breath came out slow and staggered.

You loved him, still. He was your father, and he could have died – he still could. To dig into him, to rip out the truth, and to lay upon this broken man your wrath would have given no satisfaction. He survived an _explosion_. He was _alive_. The fury in you flickered and died. Another time, you’d get your answers. For now, you were grateful you still had a parent.

When you heard the sounds of riotous commotion, you knew who finally arrived. Alan threw open the door, shoulder-checking the agent. “Step aside. My name’s on the fucking list.”

You shot to your feet, urgently hushing and flapping your hands about to silence the tattooed tech. Behind him, Sunstreaker let himself in. The bright glare he shot the agent spoke volumes you didn’t have the attention span to decipher. He closed the door behind him and turned those sharp alien blues on you.

Alan brought _Sunstreaker_? Your mouth hung open, hand waving between them like a magician about to pull a _good-fucking-reason_ from thin air. He could have left your patient with Holly, or any of your staff – but to bring him? To this emotionally charged situation?

Alan’s face twisted like you offended him with your very presence. “He was worried.”

Your head whipped over as Sunstreaker took to your side, looking equally defensive. “Was not.”

Something inside you was screaming. It was buried and muffled, like a voice behind a brick wall, and it gave you the vaguest sensation of dread. _Sunstreaker shouldn’t be here_. You were about to order Alan to take him, to call Holly, to just remove the alien from your presence.

Then, he set his hand on your back, ghosting along your spine just between your shoulder-blades. It was brief and hesitant, knowing it would make you uncomfortable, but wanting so badly to convey that he was _here_.

“Has your parent-unit said anything?”

You blinked, staring up into those eyes. The initial instincts that tried to warn you melted to an old craving. You shook your head harder than you usually would. Maybe you were trying to shake the urge to lean against him. Your stomach cautioned you, but your heart begged for some kind of support through this.

Alan, still lacking a dial on his volume, scolded you while jutting his thumb over his shoulder, “Why the _fuck_ is Agent Babydick here?"

Your father, Markus Morgan, groaned and stirred. Your hands flew out to silence the rudest alarm-clock in the room and you magnetized to his bedside. “Dad?”

Sunstreaker leaned in over your shoulder while Alan hovered over on the opposing side of the bed. You clutched your father’s hand, willing him with every ounce of strength to come out of this drug-induced fog. “Dad, say something, _please_.”

You felt him give a weak squeeze, and his quivering lips parted and fogged the oxygen mask, “Eevee...is that...my little girl?”

His lids fluttered, trying to open. You lurched forward, your other hand resting on his forehead. You caved at the name he always called you growing up. Whatever threads of anger you had dissolved away, and you no longer felt the need for answers. You wanted _guidance_. You wanted your dad to be _okay_.

“It’s me,” You couldn’t keep your voice from wavering, “It’s me and Alan and we’re here, and we’re...we’re okay.”

“Good,” Doctor Markus Morgan breathed and then started muttering. He fought to open his eyes and his head lolled from side to side in slow, languid motions.

Alan furrowed his brows at you, and you answered his silent question, “They have him drugged up.”

He grimaced, “Pain’s that bad, eh? Shit...”

“Lang- language.” Your father’s eyes finally flickered open, falling on him, “Oh...Al, my boy...are you...keeping an eye...on her?”

“She’s a handful, Mark. Don’t know how you do it.” He took his other hand with a firm but gentle grip. “I need you to get your ass up and get her under control. All she does is party all the time.”

That made him smile and rattle out a cough because _you’d never_. You hissed out a reprimand in Alan’s direction as Doctor Morgan’s hazy gaze drifted your way. His breath hitched as he focused past you.

“Oh...oh my...it _worked_...”

Your mouth opened to ask, _what worked_? The words never came out. You glanced up at Alan as he huffed out a cuss, and you followed his line of sight at Sunstreaker beside you. His eyes darted between you and your father, also a little slow on the uptake. When he realized the situation, he just closed those beautiful eyes, pressed his lips together and let out a _long_ sigh.

Between a Medical Researcher specializing in Biomedical Diagnostics, with an obsessive amount of knowledge of everything in-between; a Technical Engineer adept in Mechatronics and Programming with a few years of basic military training under his belt; and an advanced mechanical alien with millions of years worth of experience in warfare and _bullshit_ – you were collectively the stupidest people in the room.

The silence was going on for too long. You prepared to break your father’s heart with a deep breath, “Dad, it didn’t –"

“It did.” Sunstreaker leaned in beside you. He set his hand on yours and your father’s, “Thank you.”

What was the proper response to this? Ripping your hand away and cracking it across his face, or letting the lie keep your father happy? You split like a mitotic flatworm. The audacity of Sunstreaker lying to your flesh-and-blood, but the relief of not giving the terrible news that this was all a failure. You had a hard time speaking up when you felt your father’s hand squeeze again with what little of his strength he had.

Tears came to his eyes. “Little Eevee...she worked so hard...never left your side...she loves you so much.”

“I know,” He said softly, barely brushing on a whisper, “I care about her, too.”

You couldn’t feel your legs, your toes, your arms, the tips of your fingers. You couldn’t feel anything apart from the beating of your heart, and the warmth of Sunstreaker’s hand on yours. _Why_? Why would he do this?

You couldn’t take your gaze off the blond as he straightened to meet your stare. He raised his brows, tilting his head towards your father. He wanted you to say something, to do anything but stand there with your mouth gaped open.

The door opened again, and Agent Simmons peeked his head in. “How is everything going? Do you need to get me a doctor?”

“Could you do me a favor and think, Agent Shit-mens. She _is_ a doctor,” Alan glared from over his shoulder.

“It’s Simmons.”

“That’s what I said. Now close the door from the _outside.”_

Markus Morgan turned to see the man in a suit. His heart monitor beeping increased. His head whipped back to you as he squeezed your hand. “A-Age –?"

You didn’t know what he was trying to say. You couldn’t take the time to process it. You couldn’t ask, _Age_? You couldn’t think over the squealing alarms of his monitors.

His hand crushed yours as his entire body started seizing.

“Dad? Dad! No, no, no!” You tried pinning his shoulders down, laying him flat and tilting his head back to keep his airway open. “Don’t do this! Don’t do this! Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe _please_ _breathe_!”

 _Breathe_. You could have been telling yourself. The level-headed Scientist never came to guide your clumsy hands; never came to focus your vision with hawk-like precision as they blurred and flitted all over the place; never came to steady your heart and slow time all around you.

You blanked out, and before you, your father stopped moving. You sucked in a tiny breath. “Dad?”

Noises became distant ringing. Of all the times to think of that trip to the beach as a teenager, it was now. You remember the storm-clouds on the horizon, your best friend whining about a vacation ruined as Alan and Henri helped her gather the picnic supplies. Crotchety Ivan Arkeville was already waiting in the car, but your father lingered to point your gaze to the tempest. _Someday, you’ll be just like that storm, and you’ll move others more than you’ll know._

You thought it was the silliest thing you’d ever heard. That big, old, nerd. You were moving out of the way because _lightning and rain_. You were not a collection of cumulonimbus storm-clouds.

You didn’t know why this moment brought back this strange and obscure memory. If anything else, you remembered the loud tolling of the lighthouse bell. It sang over the ocean in loud, rhythmic succession, and you were close enough that you felt your eardrums vibrate with each tone. It left behind a pitch ringing, and you recalled being concerned that your hearing was damaged.

The memory faded into the present, and the bell dulled to the ringing sound of blaring monitors. A troop of nurses and doctors poured in with their crash-cart. You couldn’t move. You knew you should, as some distant voice was yelling you to – whether it was here or all in your head, everything sounded muffled and static. You felt someone pull you back against the wall with them, and your knees buckled like bad foundation.

Their arms belted around you as every bone in your body ground down to sand. Heavy, unstable sand. You couldn’t look away as the nurses and doctors blurred together in blues and whites, attaching a defibrillator to jump your father’s heart back into rhythm. _You broke his heart._

 _“It’ll be okay,”_ Some disembodied voice said in your cotton-filled, lighthouse-ringing ear. You didn’t believe them. They didn’t sound real. None of this was real. This wasn’t happening. These people _weren't_ administering a menagerie of injections or performing an intubation to regulate his breathing.

The alarms quieted. Monitors showed regularity. The storm was over.

There was the muttering of voices. The doctor’s, nurses’, Seymour’s, Sunstreaker’s, and Alan’s, but nothing made sense. It was garbled noise over torrent seas. _You’ll move others more than you’ll know._ You couldn’t even move _yourself_.

The same person who held you up pulled your arm around their neck, and aided you out of the room. You focused with immeasurable difficulty. One foot in front of the other. From the corner of your eye, you saw flashes of blue. _Alien blue optics_. They placed you against the wall for stability, and you were about to slide down before Alan stood in your vision, pinning your shoulders up.

“Look at me,” His voice boomed like thunder, “Lock your knees and snap out of it. I need you here, with us.”

Step one, rebuild your foundation. You fixed yourself against the walls with the legs that felt like straining toothpicks. Step two was much harder. You couldn’t take your eyes off the closed door of your father’s room. _What just happened_? One moment, you were talking to the man who raised you, and he smiled. He was happy you were safe. He was _happy_ , then he was _seizing_. Then he couldn’t breathe. Then you couldn’t move. You couldn’t _function_.

Alan took his hands off you and waved them in your face. “C’mon, don’t make me the responsible one.”

Then Henri shouldered him out of the way and gripped your shoulders _hard_. Sensation blossomed as the pain set your body afire with _life_. He gave you one single shake that rippled you like a whip, and the back of your head snapped against the wall. Your vision doubled, filtered through red.

He grounded through his teeth, “For frag’s sake, snap out of –"

You hand struck out like a snake, catching your fiancé across his face hard enough to stagger him back. You found yourself again, standing on your own and clutching the back of your head. “Henri, that _hurt!_ ”

“Nuh-uh-hunngh!” Alan made several panicked grunts as he looked to the busy Agent Simmons. He was currently waylaying every doctor in the hall and forcing them in your father’s room _like that would help_. He gathered quite the collection in the last minute or so.

Sunstreaker righted himself, and that unworldly gaze fixated on you as his fingers pressed on the bottom part of his mouth. _Not Henri, but Sunstreaker_. You drew in a gasp. _What have you done?_ This wasn’t like the first time you struck him and felt awful for hitting the body of your beloved. You hit _Sunstreaker_. You hit someone who was trying to help.

His brows knit with anger, hurt, and everything in between. He pulled his hand away to look at the blood you drew. His bright eyes widened. His split lip started dripping down his chin.

You took an unsteady step towards him, a trembling hand slowly coming up. “Sunny, I’m so sorry. Let me –"

Sunstreaker _gagged_. He held his bloodied hand up to stop you while the other cupped under his dripping chin. You saw his stomach cave inward as he fought to keep from retching. He gave you one last spiteful glance before storming down the busy hall, _alone_.

 _Fix this, fix this_ , your heart pleaded. You went to give chase.

The door to your father’s medical room opened.

Your heart silenced and your feet refused to move. One of the doctors – the one that mattered – broke away from the collection that moseyed about the room, looking to you expectantly, “Miss Morgan?”

Nothing else existed right now. Not the injured relationship you had with Sunstreaker. Not the Agent that flanked your side, and set a hand on your shoulder; not your tattooed friend who stood on your opposing side, oblivious to everything else as he listened as intently as you. 

“Yes?” You peeped.

“Your father had a grand-mal seizure and experienced case of ictal asystole. Usually, the heart would resume on its own, but unfortunately, he went into full cardiac arrest.”

You nodded, understanding every word but not understanding what locked you up. 

“He’s stable now. It was close. He’s a real fighter.”

“Can I see him? Is he awake, now?” Your tone was small and trembled.

“He is alive,” The doctor said carefully, “But currently, he has slipped back into a comatose state, and is not showing any ability to breathe on his own. There is a chance he can still wake, and maybe we’ll be able to remove the intubation tube, but we cannot say for sure. Perhaps I can get one of our administrative staff to help you prepare for all avenues.”

Your experience in the medical field and interning at hospitals taught you the golden rule of _wiggle room_. He never once spoke in absolutes, and you read between the lines. You held your head high and found that little thread of pride to hold onto, “No, thank you, doctor. Please excuse me.”

You turned on your heel and left Alan and Seymour from where you came. You continued down the hall with purpose, eyes ahead with a glaze that made others move from your path, and found the emergency stairwell you came flying down before. You noisily collided with the door, shoving it open with your entire body. You didn’t even make it up the first step when you collapsed, crumpling and draping over the stone steps like dirty laundry. You curled your arms around your head, biting into the sleeves of your coat, _screaming_.

Your dad was _here_. He was awake, and then he was not. He was smiling, and then he was not. Everything was right there at your fingertips, _and_ _then it was not_. Would he wake again? Would he die? Would you lose _both_ your parents? Would your father be able to explain why he lied to you? Would you be able to ask him _why_? Why did he lie? Why didn’t he trust you? Why _you_? How much more did you have to take? How much more _could_ you take?

If only you had more control over everything. If only you were perfect, smarter, planned better, accounted for _everything and anything in an unhealthy amount of obsession_. You were brilliant, you were always told you would be different from the rest, you were expected to, so _why couldn’t you do one thing right!?_ You couldn’t even be a doctor when it counted.

Maybe, if you didn’t lock up, your dad wouldn’t be comatose again. Maybe, if you paid more attention, the explosion would have never happened. Maybe, if you stopped Henri from leaving that night, this would have never happened to begin with. If only you had the foresight. If only you had that _control_.

The stairwell echoed with your mewling. Your body was an earthquake, wracking with sobs. _If only you couldn’t feel a damn thing_. You wished Bluestreak was here to hold you. You wished Jazz was here to charm you. You wished Jetfire was here to enthrall you. You wished Prowl was here to scold you.

You heard the door open, and you curled in on yourself tighter. _Smaller_. Whoever entered can just skirt around this hysterical woman, weeping on the steps. You didn’t think you could shrink any more when they squeezed in beside you and tried pulling you against them. You fought them with what little feeble strength you had.

“It’s okay,” The voice was that of Agent Simmons, “It’s alright. I’m here.”

You pushed against him as his arms locked around you, and your cries intensified. Your stomach rolled up in your throat, and the coughing began. He patted your back.

“I lost my father too, you know,” He said quietly.

The cologne he wore stung your eyes, and you sought refuge in your own arms. You wanted to argue, _my dad’s not dead!_

“I’ll do everything I can to help you,” He tried his best to console this person who turned themselves into an armadillo. “I’ll call in the best doctors to help your dad. I’ll pull anyone from anywhere to work on him.”

He was trying to be sweet. He was trying to help you, but Agent Simmons didn’t quite get how offensive that was to you. Maybe you were full on your own hype, but if _you_ couldn’t wake a comatose patient, how would some random _fuck_ from wherever in the world fair?

The door opened again, and the rabbit part of you felt the instinct to take advantage of the opening and flee. You found hope of escape in the form of Alan’s voice, “There you are. C’mon, we’re going home.”

“I got her,” Agent Simmons gave you a few pats as you would get a horse to move. “I’ll take her home.”

“Yeah, no.” You felt the engineer grip onto the arm that shielded over your face. “We got this, _Agent_.”

You were forced on the wobbly stilts that were your legs as Alan yanked you to your feet with little warning. “Get up. Let’s go.”

Agent Simmons spoke like he was a knight upon a gallant steed, “She’s in no condition to work –"

“Who said anything about work?” Alan gave you a little time to steady yourself before practically shoving you behind him and taking a menacing step towards the suited man. “Sunny, take her to the car.”

You hadn’t noticed him till now. He was standing halfway in the doorway, eyes bouncing between you and the two men looking to throw down. You blinked a few times, taking in how the split in his lip stopped bleeding, but there was something else different about him. There was something on his head. _A hat_.

It nearly obscured his blonde hair, and Sunstreaker’s eyes seemed so much brighter against the contrast of the black and grey mottled newsboy cap. He held his hand out to you, wordlessly asking. Letting _you_ come to _him_.

You wanted someone to lean on. You wanted someone who knew your challenges. You wanted someone you could bare your soul to, and remain un-judged. You wanted someone to not see a fragile woman, but to see a _human in pain_. You wanted to hold onto something so tightly, and to feel someone on the other end.

You took his hand, and your heart lurched instead of your stomach.

You stepped closer to him and turned to see the two posturing men. Agent Simmons was tall, but his build hidden under that pretentious suit. Alan, though, seemed a little short. His shoulders were angled and his stance a little skewed and _oh my god Alan was baiting the agent_. You recognized those slightly bent knees and elbows – the same stance he used to put many a friend to the ground while roughhousing – ready and primed to move if Simmons took advantage of what he thought was weakness.

“I don’t know where you get the balls, _Agent_ , but you need to step back.” Alan stood his ground with the man who could possibly arrest him _if he felt like it_. “She’s not your family, not your friend, and certainly not your girl. If anyone is taking her home and feeding her triple chocolate cake while watching cartoons, it’s me. Why? Because _I_ know her. Not _you_.”

Agent Simmons’ eyes surveyed the man, and you held your breath. _Please, God, no. Don’t take the bait._ You weren't worried Alan would lose. You were worried about the _charges_.

Your friend twisted to look at you, but he still had complete awareness of the threat before him. He pointed to the door as would a stern father. “Go. _Now_.”

Sunstreaker urged you along, and Alan insultingly turned his back on the man as if he was _nothing_. You were crowded out of the doorway but managed to steal one last glance back at Agent Simmons.

Those dark eyes were fixated on the back of Alan’s head. His fists were clenched at his sides, and a vein bulged from his temple. His face was flushed, eyes wide and wild, and his jaw set so tight, you would think he’d crack a molar.

This was the first time you saw that man angry. It frightened you.

~*~

It wasn’t triple chocolate cake, but a few pints of plain chocolate ice cream. You were already halfway through a carton as Alan drove you home.

You didn’t say much. You kept your mouth busy shoveling in so much sugared dairy, your teeth hurt. Most of the chatting happened between Alan and Sunstreaker as you curled up in the back seat with your chilly prize. Maybe you were hoping if you ate enough, you would feel cold enough to be numb.

It wasn’t cartoons, but whatever your antenna could pick up at this time of night. The three of you devolved to zombies, sitting and staring at the black and white shows of three men regularly pursuing random acts of comedic violence and antics. You couldn’t speak for Sunstreaker, but you knew Alan was letting what happened at the hospital sink in. He was quiet, looking further away than ever as he blanked out. Eventually, he rudely spread himself out on the entire couch, chasing you off, and started snoring.

Now, you sat beside Sunstreaker, finding his griping much more distracting than what was on the television.

He writhed beside you like a whining child, holding his stomach and groaning, “Why does it hurt? I think my tank is at capacity, but _ugh_ I just want to purge my systems.”

You watched his near-death throes with a slightly amused smile to your lips. “You overate. This stuff’s pretty rich.”

“But you’re fine,” he shot an accusatory glare your way. _How dare you not warn him about the dangers of chocolate ice cream_.

“I’ve had practice,” You hummed.

Sunstreaker took you in for a moment, bright eyes flicking between yours and your very faint smile. The corner of his mouth quirked as he turned away. Unknown to you, his dramatics was a little more planned for that very reason.

“ _Practice_ ,” He spat, fixing his hat as he readjusted his seating, “I’ll never understand you humans. What you ingest is nutrient-poor and causes pain.”

You glanced at the new accessory he so jealously guarded. “It tastes good.”

“It’s a _trap_.”

You snorted the most unflattering of noises, sounding more akin to a drowning dolphin than actual laughter. He smiled at you briefly before saying, “I can't tell if you’re putting on a face or if you feel better.”

You fell quiet. You didn’t want to think about what happened several hours ago. 

“Ah slag,” Sunstreaker cursed, “I didn’t want to upset –"

“It’s alright.” You set the near-empty carton down between you and noticed the ice cream stains on your shirt. You began to wipe and lick them off. “I’m not faking, but I’m also trying not to think about it. This is a nice distraction, but...”

You trailed off when you noticed he was watching you, wide-eyed, brows nearly touching the brim of his hat. His face turned a shade of pink as he glanced away a few times, and you realized you were being a disgusting little organic.

“Sorry.” You stopped and pulled your stained shirt straight. “I didn’t mean to gross you out.”

“What?” Sunstreaker blinked back from his thoughts. “Oh. Yeah. Gross. Your mouth, that... _glossa. Primus,_ super gross.”

“I’m sorry, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That word you used.”

“I forgot,” He said quickly, “what were you saying? You want a distraction? What kind?”

Your thoughts went immediately to the mech you thought about the most. “I wish Bluestreak was here. I wish he would tell me about Praxus and everything else about your homeworld. I don’t want to think about how the heart can slow or stop during a seizure, and how the muscle normally would resume beating after a bout of ictal asystole, and how this time –"

Sunstreaker grabbed at your wringing hands and it shut your mouth. He pulled away and though he didn’t _say_ sorry, you felt it as he gestured for you to _calm yourself_. He swallowed with a bit of effort, and his voice was low and strained. He was struggling with himself, again.

“Then let’s not think about it. We can call Sideswipe to take us out. Together, we got stories that’ll blow that sniper out of the stratosphere.” He waved in the direction of your television. “Or we can just sit here and watch more of this...whatever _this_ is.”

You had a vague idea when things shifted between you both. When he became more than just a patient to you, and when he treated you better than a processor-ache. Still, all this? All this attention? This genuine feeling that he actually _gave a shit_?

“Why have you been so nice to me?”

Sunstreaker’s brows knitted together, and you expected a big enough blowup to wake Alan. You wearily steeled yourself for the fight that would occur between the two, and possibly patching up the loser – let’s admit it, millions of years of hardened combat didn’t prepare the Autobot to hold up his own within an organic body. You resigned yourself to a quiet night ruined.

He leaned in and hissed out, “Idiot. You're not just my medic, you’re my _comrade_. I take care of those on my team.”

Your lip quivered at the word. “Is that what we are? A team?”

“What else would we be?”

You didn’t want to think more about that question. “You are my patient, I am your doctor.”

He gave a sharp, but quiet laugh, “Oh? It’s lookin’ more and more that you need someone to take care of _you_.”

You _should_ have been insulted at that, but it was the truth. How you wished you could let your guard down and not feel the weight of responsibility. You missed Henri, and how you felt that you had a partner to help you shoulder it all, that you were a _team_. You found yourself gazing at Sunstreaker as he looked around at everything else but _you_.

“I’ve been trying, but I don’t know how. I’m limited in this meatbag.” His eyes finally settled down in his lap, obscured by the brim of his newest accessory. “If I was in my body, I could make you stop leaking.”

“Crying. It’s called _crying_.” You breathed out a chuckle, a little surprised and touched. “You’ve been helping me more than you think. Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to lie to my dad like that.”

He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “His systems were in a fragile state. To tell him the truth, it would have overwhelmed him, but...in the end, it didn’t matter.”

 _It didn’t matter_. Your father was straddling this world and the beyond with the impression that you were as brilliant as he hoped, succeeding with Project: Arkeville. You wondered, as you sunk into the thick, gloomy sludge of your mind, if he knew you froze up.

You asked quickly, trying to keep your head above it all, “But why? Did you think he could help you?”

Sunstreaker finally looked up at you, “No. I thought he could help _you_.”

Your mouth opened and closed. The more he seemed to put your needs before his, the more it confounded and divided you. Your heart thumped loudly, telling all your secrets to those who could hear. You sucked in a quiet breath, asking the nagging question that’s been etched within your chest.

“Why did you say –?"

The universe deemed it fit to cut you off as Alan let out a loud snort and mumbled. You jolted and twisted to see him roll away from the glare of the television. Your eyes caught a folded paper sticking from his back pocket. 

You turned back to Sunstreaker, who noticed the same thing. He inclined his head, urging you to continue your question.

 _Why did you say you cared for me?_ You silly girl. You were reading too much into it. Even if it was to sell the image to your father that everything was alright, it wasn’t anything beyond what some of your alien friends felt. You were _vulnerable_ right now. You craved the arms of the one you loved. Something awful happened and all you wanted was the permission to be _weak_ and not be judged.

You pushed yourself to your feet and motioned Sunstreaker to follow, but not without sneaking that paper out of Alan’s pants pocket. You lead the way back into the quiet of your room and closed the door halfway to keep any talk from waking that slumbering beast in your living room.

“What were you saying?” He planted himself right on your bed, half-melted ice cream carton in hand, stuffing his mouth like he never learned his lesson.

You pocketed the paper and moved for the bag of clothes in the closet. You avoided eye-contact. “I wanted to say that I was sorry for hitting you.”

He didn’t respond, and when you finally looked up to toss him a pair of sleepwear, the clothes just flopped on the floor before him. He was peering at you suspiciously, and not sharing _why_ he didn’t believe you.

You didn’t want to ask what was such a childish question. You traded it for bearing your soul. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t know why it happened. Everything’s been such a mess. _I’m_ a mess, and I didn’t mean to lose control like that. I’m supposed to always keep a level head, and anything else is a sign of weakness. I can’t afford to be seen like that.”

Sunstreaker tilted his head at you with a small, sad smirk on his lips. “But you’re just a tiny femme.”

You pointed to your own bottom lip to remind him, _you packed a punch_. He responded with a snicker, nodding in agreement. You took a deep breath, “I really am sorry. You looked like you were gonna hit back.”

“ _Tsk_ , I’m offended that you’d think I’d lay a servo on you.”

“You _have_.”

“And I was thrown across the fragging room by your bodyguard,” He snorted, “I learned my lesson.”

You coughed out a few chuckles, remembering when Alan linebacker-ed him into those poor little monitors. _Ugh_ , thank God they seemed to be getting along much better, now.

Sunstreaker fussed with his hat. “That’s not why I was mad. I mean, yeah, it fraggin’ hurt, and you made this fleshling fluid leak and _Primus_ that was gross, but I’m not a stranger to war, y’know. All that fighting, _endless_ fighting, it changes a bot. Sometimes, you get the same look in your optics, that faraway gaze.”

You leaned against your closet doorway, letting his observation sink in. It was difficult to think you had a look the Autobot gunner recognized.

“You called me _his_ name.”

You put yourself back at that moment where Sunstreaker wasn’t trying to help you, but it was your fiancé. You winced, “I...I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“It’s because I _look_ like him.” Sunstreaker squirmed more and more, fighting whatever beast was within. “I don’t _want_ to look like him.”

You gestured weakly to his head, “Is that the reason for the new look?”

He touched the newsboy-style cap. “I found it in a box, labeled ‘ _lost and found’._ Whatever the frag that means.”

You sighed, “Oh Sunny, that belonged to someone who _lost_ it.”

“I found it, it’s mine.”

“At least let me check for lice.” You crossed the way and reached for it.

You were a little shocked he actually parted with it. He asked, “What's _lice_?”

“A parasitic insect that –"

“A _what!?_ ”

You hushed him, glancing out the half-open door. Sunstreaker’s eyes were as wide as saucers, hesitating to touch his own scalp. He resigned himself to his fate with a whimper. “I fragging hate this, I hate it so much. You humans are gross, and get parasites, and are filled with gross fluids – all you do is leak fluids _every cycle_ and I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it...”

He continued to chant as you picked through the interior of the hat, and it looked relatively new. You then leaned over to inspect your patient’s hair. No mature nits, but you made a mental note to check again in a couple of days. With a reassuring pat, you broke him of his griping.

“I’m sorry I called you Henri.” You stepped back awkwardly, leaning against your dresser. You gave him his space, alone, on your bed. “I don’t even know why I did.”

Sunstreaker fixed on his hat, repeating what now became a question, “Because I _look_ like him...?”

“No,” You said, “You’re _worlds_ apart from him. You’re so different, that it’s made it easier to talk to you – _look at you_ – everything about you is different. Henri would never have hurt me to snap me out of that.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to injure you,” He said quietly, almost contrite, “Was it bad? Did I really hurt you?”

“I’m alright,” you matched his tone, “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“Okay. We’re okay.” The corner of his mouth quirked in a half-smile briefly when he echoed your last two words. His gentle tone was a rope, urging you closer, “Come here. Sit down with me. Relax.”

Relax? _Yeah right_. Your heart was fluttering about, and you were trying hard to rein it back in its cage. You knew you craved the warmth of a friend, craved the stability of another, and you were just so _tired and cold_. You were sure your stomach would feel like a laundry machine at the slightest touch. 

Sunstreaker didn’t pressure you any further and continued, “I shouldn’t have walked away when you lost control. That human paint-job was frantic to find you when you ran off. I should have chased you, instead of let that bloodbag catch you when your defenses were down.”

You replayed the moment when Agent Simmons tried to pull you against him, to _console_ you.

“But I didn’t know if that reaction was me, or the fleshling I’m trapped in.” He looked down into the soupy mess of ice cream, just stirring it all around. “Would your sparkmate have gone after you?”

“No,” You didn’t hesitate, and you certainly didn’t want to dwell on your relationship when your patient just dropped a potential bombshell.

Sunstreaker looked up, brows knit in disbelief. You explained, “Henri wasn’t a fighter. In this instance, he would have got Alan, because _he_ is.”

He shook his head and went back to the soothing stirring of now chocolate milk. “I would have gone after you.”

You waved dismissively, “Right, so how long have you been struggling with these dualities?”

“Not often.” He didn’t meet your gaze. “Barely. Like, never. Just the times I told you.”

“Okay,” You said as you crossed the way. You knelt before him and pulled the carton from his hand and tried to lock eyes with him. You were right to believe he was lying to you, but you had no way of _really_ knowing. When he finally gave you his full attention, you smiled sympathetically. “Promise me, you’ll tell me if you feel conflicted. I’ll help you sort what you’re feeling. Promise?”

Sunstreaker had a war within himself that only he was privy to, but you saw the struggle in these little tics and twitches of his face. “What if I’m feeling conflicted _now_?”

“I’m listening. Please, tell me about it.”

He squirmed, leaning away from you. “I _hated_ seeing that fleshling touch you. You hate organic contact, and he was forcing it on you.”

“He doesn’t know –" You played devil’s advocate.

“He didn’t _ask_ , though, did he?” He snapped out, “I didn’t like it. It made me angry because I can't lay these weak little servos on you without you looking like you’ll purge your systems. Then you say your bonded wouldn’t even fight for you and I can’t even begin to wrap my processor around what you see in some lesser fleshling –"

“Whoa, whoa,” You held up your hand to stop him, “Henri is not _lesser_ because he’s not as strong as you or Alan. I fell in love with him because he respected me and the choices I’ve made. He didn’t want to turn me into that cookie-cutter housewife like every other guy, and he came to me when there were problems. He _supported_ me and he trusted that I can take care of _myself_. I am not some damsel if you haven’t noticed.” You pointed to your bottom lip to make your point.

Sunstreaker unmindfully touched his scabbed split lip and worked his jaw. “Sounds like you were taking care of _him._ Not much of a partnership.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. This alien was _judging_ your relationship. Your brows hiked up incredulously. “Are you feeling jealousy?”

“No!” His mouth grimaced in disgust. “I don’t get jealous. Others get jealous of _me_.”

Whatever mental _fuckery_ was happening, you made a hard mental note to push for that psych-eval Holly mentioned earlier. “What you’re feeling right now, I’m pretty sure that’s you. Henri would have been upset, but not at this degree.”

“Listen, the point I’m trying to get at is, you were left open for an attack and that meatbag could have taken advantage.” Sunstreaker waved his hands in the air, “I’m just saying, tactically, you would have had to rely on a partner or some kind of backup, and your sparkmate just doesn’t sound up to task.”

“Yeah, definitely _your_ feelings.” You stood, hand on one hip, the other pinching the bridge of your nose. “Without a doubt. You’re much too aggressive, so take comfort in knowing this is _all you_.”

“I’m not aggressive,” He defended, then said something that bordered on a question, “You don’t like aggressive...?”

You looked over your bed, then all around your room while answering, “It’s not that. I don’t like, hmm, what would be an appropriate word? _Domineering_.” You continued to self-analyze as you started to clear a space on your floor for him to sleep – as the couch out there was occupied and the other was much too small. “I don’t mind a strong personality. I don’t mind working under someone. I mind someone using that kind of domination to put others down, to see everyone as less than them, to abuse others.”

You turned your attention back to Sunstreaker, and he had an inquisitive tilt to his head. You shrugged a ‘ _what?’_ and he shrugged back. “You would make a good Autobot.”

You snorted a sudden and muffled laugh. “Yeah right. I don’t know if you noticed, I don’t have an alt-mode.”

“If you did, what would you choose?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Jet.”

His hand covered his chest in a mock-gasp, “ _What_? You're a tacky wing-chaser? I thought you had some self-respect.”

"I'm on the ground _all the time_ ," you defended with a huff, "I've been in cars. If there weren't rules about restricted airspace, I would _beg_ Jetfire to take me for a spin."

"You haven't been in _me,_ yet," Sunstreaker drawled confidently.

You'll never get used to how the Autobots would so casually offer themselves to you in such a way. To ask you to ' _get inside me'_ still colored your cheeks and you always tried to rub it off. You couldn't say a word without choking out an immature giggle. 

"You _haven't,"_ He sounded like he was whining at first, "Yeah, Jetfire is big and all, but haven't you heard that it's not the size of the ship but the skill of the pilot that counts?"

You were _wheezing_. That bawdy part of your brain was alive and well, streaking through the room wearing only a lampshade.

He was getting a kick out of your reactions, whether he had any idea of the connotations or not, you'll never know. He continued with his trademark cock-eyed grin, "And you should know, I am a _very_ skilled pilot."

"God, stop. _S_ _top._ " Your face was ten degrees hotter. "I get it, you're a good driver. You're better than everyone else. More the reason for you to get back in your body. Just...stop saying those things like that."

"Like _what?"_ He hummed, like he _knew_. He couldn't have. Cybertronians had no way of reproduction, and as far as you knew, had no need - or _means_ \- for anything sexual. Whatever he was talking about only had meanings that were understood by their race alone.

Maybe he was flirting. Maybe you were interpreting things incorrectly. Maybe it was time to change the subject. 

"Nevermind." You waved dismissively as you sought refuge within your closet, fishing out the extra pillows and blankets. You started setting him up a place to sleep beside your bed while saying, “It’s getting late. I’ll let you sleep in here, but it has to be the floor."

As you rose back to your feet, you expected him to complain, as he was still seated upon your bed. Instead, he had the most uncomfortable twist to his lips, fighting with himself to ask, “Do you really not see him as much when you look at me?”

You cocked your head to the side, looking down at the face of the man you were about to marry. With the three years of losing muscle mass, Henri’s body changed. With his face, you had to pick out the defining features that reminded you of him most, but they were few. Sunstreaker was adding extra wrinkles to that brow for how often he scowled. Without looking away you pulled that folded paper out of your pocket and flicked it open.

You held it up to his face to where all you saw were blue eyes. You shook your head, as much as it pained you. “I see you, Sunstreaker. I know it’s you in there.”

The creases in his eyes told you he smiled, “Good. Don’t forget it.”

“I don’t think you’d let me.”

He pulled away to look at the paper, nearly choking on his words, “What the _frag_ is this?”

You flipped it over just in time to see it was your crude sketch of his frame, and your ‘ _notes’_ of organ drawings, before he swiped it from your hands. He leaned away from you as he looked it over. “Is this me? Are you _mad_ at me? This is insulting! What have I done to deserve this?”

You waved wildly to reach for it, shushing him and hissing, “It's a note for _me_!”

“It’s a crime against the Galactic Council is what it is,” he held it just out of your reach, “do you really think I look like this? Primus, if I do, then I’d rather stay – _OOOF!_ ”

In your attempts to take back your grade-school worthy sketch of your patient’s Cybertronian frame, you – like every _stupid_ romantic movie – slipped on the bedding you’d just laid out and fell right on him. _Right on top of him_.

You locked up, waiting to feel the surging tempest in your stomach, waiting to feel the nausea of skin on skin, waiting to feel that clammy, cold, sickness creep over your flesh.

 _Nothing_. Nothing but awkward breaths and awkward sensations. Sensations long buried in the darkness of your mind with the moldy fireworks and butterfly corpses. You were uncomfortably aware of how the soft give of your stomach molded against his hips, how you felt his heart pound against your jaw, and how tightly he froze up, like a marble statue, right under you. 

You brought your head up to meet Sunstreaker’s _very_ concerned eyes.

“Are you going to purge on me?”

You didn’t feel sick. You felt embarrassed. You felt _ashamed_. But nauseated? You shook your head slowly, waiting for the rush of queasiness.

“Are you...are you alright?”

The very definition of _alright_ eluded you. You were in a perpetual state of unhappiness and misery, but now – _right now_ – you weren't sure. You struggled with the touch of another, from friends, family, _humans_. What happened that triggered this gateway to recovery? What did Sunstreaker do that made him different? He was one of the aliens you came to adore wrapped in flesh, but it was still that warm touch that you came to detest. Your mind tried to piece together everything that led up to this, but there was one resounding thing that made it difficult to think.

You couldn’t remember the last time you were _hugged_.

Against your better judgment, you nodded. “I...I feel fine.”

The minutes that went by were measured in galloping heartbeats, racing into the unknown. Sunstreaker’s hands came up on either side of you, twitching and unsure. You lowered your head, waiting for something to happen, something to move you. Still, _nothing_ , but you should give Sunstreaker his space back. He became an unwilling victim in this accidental experiment, and he seemed like he wanted to shove you off.

You pulled your arms to your sides to push off, only for his hands to rest on your back. You flinched, both not expecting his touch and expecting that lurch in your guts.

“Easy,” He rumbled, and you _felt_ his voice vibrate, “I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

You clamped your eyes shut and let those words sink into your very being. You let your arms slack, giving in to this a little too easily. You called this an _experiment_ , but sometimes you were too smart to even fool yourself. After everything that happened, you _needed_ someone, right now. You needed someone who knew your struggles and knew your pain. Someone who knew you were not perfect, but tried so hard to be. Someone who knew you were not frail, but didn’t shame you for your vulnerabilities. 

His fingers came up and touched your hair, almost curiously. “Are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Your voice was a broken whisper, carrying with it the keys to the floodgates.

“Yeah,” He breathed out, “I think I am.”

Finally, _finally_ , you felt Sunstreaker relax. His body became soft and pliable under you as his arms curled around your shoulders and brought you up. Yours slid under his, interlocking in an embrace that was both new and familiar. You remembered how _good_ it felt to be in the arms of someone who cared, but couldn’t remember the last time you hugged another. You couldn’t remember the last time you hugged Henri.

You pressed your face against him, trying to rub away the thought of your fiancé. You weren't hugging Henri, you were hugging _Sunstreaker_. Your patient. Your friend. Your _teammate_. You tried to imagine him in his original form, thinking of hard metal edges, the smell of oil and ozone, and just the all-encompassing protection of _metal._

“Just like before,” His voice was so uncharacteristically soft and inviting, “I won’t tell anyone. You’re safe with me, soft femme.”

You didn’t cry as hard as you had earlier. Instead, you allowed yourself to feel vulnerable while having every confidence you were shielded from those who would see you as weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an epidemic!  
> There was a virus on the station and it had YOUR voice.  
> Ultra Magnus stormed through the halls, listening intently for the faintest of sound recordings. Bots everywhere traded these tiny little chits that had a human voice praise:  
> “You look very nice today!”  
> “You’re so strong!”  
> “Wow! You’re so good with a gun.” – Magnus confiscated that from a blaster, but he suspected there were more out there.  
> “That’s a beautiful color scheme you have.”  
> “You are SO amazing.”  
> This had to be stopped.  
> With his collection in hand, he rounded the corner to the medbay, where Jazz and Brawn chatted.  
> “Why would I need someone to tell me I'm strong?”  
> The Saboteur had a sly grin, playing the voice chit of you saying ‘You’re very impressive.’ Jazz cocked his head at the smaller mech, “When was the last time someone called YOU impressive, eh?”  
> Brawn grumbled and took the chit.  
> “No, no, hand that over, right now.” Ultra Magnus came storming up, holding out his hand. Brawn looked a little put-out before just handing it off and walking away. The Enforcer turned his attention to Jazz. “You're the one distributing this. You only just returned from your escort mission and you’re already making trouble.”  
> He held one out, “more like makin’ morale boosters, I call ‘em”  
> “More akin to circuit-boosters. Hand them over.”  
> “This was my last one, and it’s all for you.”  
> Ultra Magnus straightened at the sound of your pieced-together voice ‘You are so...Neat...And...Organized.’  
> He vented loudly and added it to his collection, “I want a complete list of all you distributed in ten cycles.”  
> Jazz hummed, “Fine, fine.”  
> Ultra Magnus left him to enter the medbay, calling out, “I need a medic to ascertain whether these sound-chits are a threat or not.”  
> “Already have,” The red and white surgeon turned around from what he was working on. He held up a chit, playing your piecemeal recording ‘You have...Steady hands.’  
> “Thank Primus, Ratchet, you’re here. What do you recommend?”  
> “Quarantine,” Ratchet responded with that serious, dusky rattle, “And when I get to Earth, I’ll find the source of it all and put it to a stop.” 
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Thank you DreamSoftly for coming up with the idea that Eva is unknowingly popular in the far part of the galaxy.
> 
> And Cao_the_dreamer, Thank you for checking my french, (Google translate only does so much) and helping me realize nearly every Autobot has some kind of praise kink.
> 
> Except for Ultra Magnus and Ratchet, it seems...


	19. Ghost from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scale of current events continues to battle between the terrible and the promising. You're due for good news, but it's how it's delivered, that may be the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS UPDATED: Suggestive Content.  
> I should have done that much sooner and if I blindsided anyone, I'm super sorry. 
> 
> Sweet DemonQueen_Karolina let it be known that Sunny's POV is greatly appreciated, so because I suddenly have SO much time on my hands, I did a complete chapter rewrite. It was fun, frien, thanks for the feedback <3  
> Which means you get more Alan and Holly, and I admit, I indulged on documenting those two interact. Sorry not sorry, I had fun.   
> That also means you gotta fill in the blanks a little more on trying to figure out Eva and the trash-fire that is life.
> 
> I think about each of you and worry, y'know. Hope you all and everyone you love are safe and well.

Sunstreaker didn’t need to read an electro-magnetic field to know you were anxious. It was practically pouring from you. He sat in the passenger seat as Alan snored from the back, but the Autobot wished nothing more than to have that painted hazard at the wheel. You were wide awake, but couldn’t be further away from what you were doing. You nearly hit one of those weird furry organics that stood in the middle in the road.

He sighed, unable to separate if he was more frustrated or concerned, “If I was driving, our lives wouldn’t be in danger.”

You risked a glimpse in his direction. Your lips pursed before you began cannibalizing them. He waited for you to say something, worried when you didn’t. In this tense silence, you continued to stare ahead, focusing on staying in the present and not within your processor. 

Your morning began with calling the hospital and getting a status report on your parental-unit and then calling your mysteriously skilled assistant to give her an update. Something that small woman said had you on edge. Holly wanted you to get to the facility as soon as possible, saying _‘this will be better discussed in person.’_

Code words meaning: _phone lines are not safe_. 

Sunstreaker noticed your hands tightening and readjusting on the steering wheel. At first, what was perceived to be fidgeting was _trembling_. He worked his jaw, contemplating what to do about you. After a handful of loud heartbeats – _how does anyone not hear these noisy fluid-pumps?_ – he set that primitive human servo out on the center console, palm up invitingly.

“Think about it. Your minions have been reviewing the data you gave them, yesterday. It’s probably about that. You’re worrying over nothing, as always.”

The movement drew your attention, and you hesitated before you accepted his offer. Your brows creased like you experienced a surge of relief. You squeezed and laced your fingers in his. You croaked and cleared your throat, “Won’t know ‘til we get there.”

You were obviously mulling over what happened yesterday with that lesser fleshling. You were so afraid of the repercussions of putting a full stop to his primitive advances, that he now believed you two were _friends_. Except your colorful bodyguard let it be known the agent was _not_ wanted without any of the fear that paralyzed you.

“If its bad news,” He leaned over, lowering his tone playfully, “There’s always Prowl. Just say the word. The base is ours.”

Your face cracked into a flashing smile and you huffed out a little chuckle. _There we go_. Sunstreaker grinned to himself and turned to watch the passing of trees. You probably thought he was joking. That’s _cute_. 

Last night changed so much between you. 

_You fell asleep on him_. While he was talking by the way. _Rude_. 

He found out why the bots enjoyed talking with you so much. You made a fantastic audience, immersing yourself in the story with such intrigue and an eagerness that would make any mech feel special. Primus forbid Kup ever got his servos on you. 

Sunstreaker was not immune to that delighted twinkle you’d get in your eye. As you were bundled against him, your ear was pressed against his chest, just listening. He had no issue with filling the silence, but then you started _snoring_ , right in the middle of him describing that _incredible_ fight between Optimus Prime and Megatron on Sherma Bridge. Not everyone was there to witness that, you know, and he was _right there_ to see it all. You should be _impressed_!

Sunstreaker didn’t complain, _at first._ He sucked in a steeling breath when he felt your drool saturate his shirt. He wanted to shove you off, to shake you, and stuff these soft blankets in your intake. _By Cybertron,_ you were disgusting, sometimes. 

_Sometimes._ He recalled angling his head enough to look at your sleeping face. It was smooshed, your lips crinkled in an o-shape, and some of your hair was plastered to your skin. He’d never seen you so disheveled and unkempt, but there was something about it that caused that weird fluid-pump to fluctuate. 

Sunstreaker was all about appearances. He always had a shine to his frame, a flourish to his kills, and one hell of a grin to top off his victories. Everyone knew he looked _good_ and was _totally_ jealous of it. You almost had the same creed, one that your mini-squish assistant ruthlessly enforced, but you had a different reason for presenting yourself as professional and in-control. To see you like _this_ , with your guard down, vulnerable and raw and so very _real_ , it made Sunstreaker tighten his arms around you and he didn’t know why. 

Now, though, you were back to your default: high-strung, alert, and professional with a frigid disposition towards genuine contact. You were back on your guard, but not quite. Sunstreaker saw you open a little door to just him, holding onto his servo – _hand_ , whatever – reminding yourself that there was someone fighting it all with you. You had a team, but to have someone you could open up to? _That’s_ what you needed. 

He resisted checking on you. He had a hard time keeping his optics off you – watching your behavior and _nothing else_. He was a squad leader several times over, it was his duty to monitor you, being a medic on his team. A medic that was so _soft_ and _warm_ in his arms. 

Everything about last night was so soothing and comforting. Your berth was unfairly cozy. How dare you hog this all to yourself while you gave him those lumpy slabs in your living space? You said over and over that he was your priority, but you never once let him recharge on this wonderful space? _Primus_ , it felt like a dip in a CR chamber. He’ll have to commandeer it next chance he gets, but you didn’t seem intent on sharing. 

It was those fleshling customs. Humans that coupled together shared this space. You were not bonded to him, per se, but to this _body_. He didn’t download the datapackets on human culture before being shipped, but this crash course was enough to show him that this was considered intimate. Platonic relationships between the different genders of your species were few, as reproduction was repulsively important to your species as a pastime. He didn’t like that uptight and severe personality you had, but he understood _why_ you had it. If you were Cybertronian, you would get the respect you deserved, no matter what style frame you wore, or which pronoun you preferred. 

_If you were Cybertronian_ – what was he thinking talking to you like that last night? _I’m a Very_ _Skilled pilot._ He was boasting to you like you were a flashy speedster swaying their aft at some high-class oil house. You were just a pop-able little femme monogamously attached to your future conjunx – _who was some puny little meatbag, by the way_. Granted, there were some bots out there that carried on relationships with aliens of all kinds, but Sunstreaker himself could _never_ imagine some greasy, sticky, organic _hands_ on his plating. 

Except, yours didn’t _feel_ disgusting as you laced your fingers in his. It felt _nice._ He wished you had an EM field. There was so much between you left unsaid, left for assumptions. Like, did you _really_ like guns, or was it just Bluestreak’s rifle? What were you _really_ feeling when Sideswipe was running his digits along your back-strut? Did you honestly think the face on his real body was attractive? If you weren’t attached to your sparkmate, just _how_ much were you into sportster-frames? 

Not that it mattered. You were friends. Comrades. You needed one another in this semi-parasitic relationship, at least for now. Once he was back in his frame, then he’d know for sure, when you put those small little servos on him, you weren't imagining him as someone else. 

Once he was back in his frame, he wouldn’t feel the need to have physical contact to fill this void of feeling _alone_. He couldn’t feel Sideswipe over the bond, he couldn’t feel the constant stream of communications or the fluctuation of a nearby EM field. There were no more data downloads, no more speaking in his own alien tongue, no more feeling someone touch his metal plating. Everything was dark and quiet and _cold_.

Last night, you were _so soft and warm_ within his arms, and the threads of feelings it left him with lasted for hours. That surge of safety and acceptance. That reassurance. That _trust_. Your hand left him with paltry remnants of what your embrace was capable of. The give of your flesh under his servos would have turned his tanks, and he wondered when he was back in his frame, would that change? Would he still feel this kind of connection?

Sunstreaker turned to look at you. You were so much different, now. Your lip was bleeding from chewing it to the meat. _So gross_. Your eyes were still wide and alert, straddling between the present and that calculative space in your brain-module. Who knows what was going through your processor right now – probably worrying about what your assistant had waiting for you. You’d do better thinking about his frame and how amazing he’d look after a good polish.

You didn’t mention last night. He wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t about to bring it up or rub it in your face on how his shirt was _soaked_ because you never closed your intake. He wouldn’t admit he fell asleep as well, waking when that painted beast rose from his slumber and noisily used your waste disposal room. He had an inkling that you’d be all flustered and embarrassed, sharing a berth with him because _organics were weird_. To avoid that whole awkward topic, he carefully moved to the _hard_ and unpleasant floor without waking you.

Sunstreaker wouldn’t say a disparaging word about it at all. You had a _really_ rough day, yesterday. You’ll get this _one_ pass.

Finally, you pulled into the facility’s lot and rolled into an empty parking space. You idled on the brake, opting to hold his hand a little longer while staring at where you two were connected. Slowly, your gaze traveled up to hold his.

“Thank you,” Your voice was a whisper, but he heard it with his limited audio receptors. Sunstreaker responded with a firm nod before pulling his hand away. You shifted the gearstick into park a little too jarringly for his taste, and he winced. _Easy tiny femme, it’s not a Decepticon, jeez_. 

He turned to the backseat and said, “Hey Paint-job. We’re here.”

“I hate that name,” Alan grumbled, “Sounds like something you robots do while –"

“Out!” You barked, “Out of the car, everyone. Holly needs to see me, and I’d appreciate some backup.”

_Backup_. That was the first time Sunstreaker heard you ask for assistance in such a way, and it made him more agreeable with the thought of covering your flank. He missed his blasters. 

As you all exited and made way for the front doors, you started slinging orders, “Depending on mitigating circumstances, I still need you both with my team, today. No doubt they will ask questions on the data from Jetfire and First Aid.”

“Oh, like I don’t have my own shit to do?” Alan fished out a cigarette and began the process of offending everyone within the non-smoking building. 

You kept your dubious glare ahead while snorting, “Name one thing you’re going to do that you’re not making your assistant do.”

“Agent Smells-his-own-Farts wanted that cleaned videotape today. I’m _personally_ handing it over.” He took his first draw, and Sunstreaker picked up the pace on your opposing side, avoiding the cloud of exhaust that choked up some of the passersby.

“You plan on picking a fight?” The mech-in-flesh couldn’t keep from chuckling. For an insufferable human, there was that one thing he liked. Similar to Sideswipe, the man seemed to gravitate to a good brawl. Get someone like this on a battlefield, all you had to do was point them in the right direction.

The tech shrugged, “I don’t want any of my guys touchin’ it. If shit goes south, I want to be the only one goin’ down.”

That threw Sunstreaker off a bit, but at the same time, he wasn’t too surprised. His recent time with this man proved there were layers under that tattooed flesh. 

You cast a skeptical glance over your shoulder, “Did you have to make it sound like you were going to instigate a scuffle?”

“Oh, because I totally am.”

The Autobot rolled his eyes as you grumbled something about calling Prowl. Maybe you would consider a hostile takeover if your friend decided to just lay into an enforcer of the law, gladiatorial style.

“Doctor Morgan,” Your assistant’s voice caused Sunstreaker _and_ Alan to flinch. She came skittering down the adjacent hall.

You stopped without warning, and both men crashed into you, thrusting you forward a few steps. Holly LeTene smoothly guided your stumbles in a full circle till you came facing the tailgating culprits. She hardly glanced up from her clipboard.

“Thanks,” you caught your breath, shooting them both a reproving glare before interrogating, “What do you have for me? What's wrong? What happened?” 

“Breathe, Ma’am,” She reminded, ushering everyone to the side of the hall, “There is nothing urgently wrong, except for the obvious. I wanted to prepare you before Doctor Arkeville summoned you.”

“Well if that ain’t fuckin’ ominous,” Alan muttered, taking a quick draw of his cigarette.

You waved for your assistant to continue while wafting smoke away from you and Sunstreaker. 

“Firstly, put that out before entering our lab,” Holly ordered, and Alan did a little mocking sneer before turning to the side and puffing a bit more to finish faster. “Second, we’ve been reviewing data nonstop, and there were questions. We’ll need all three of you to make yourselves available, afterward.”

Sunstreaker pointed at himself, “Me? What could I possibly do?”

“The translations are not perfect, and there are questions on Cybertronian physiology that we are unable to solve on our own.”

He arched a brow at you, “Wouldn’t a medic be better at that? I’m just a soldier.”

You contemplated a bit, taking the opportunity to adjust his hat for him before saying, “Just answer what you can, for now. We’ll compile a list to send to First Aid.”

He nodded and batted your hand away, readjusting it to where it was comfortable. You turned back to Holly, “This was already on the agenda. What are you preparing me for?”

She motioned you to follow, taking the route to Ivan’s office. “I’ve received the news that Doctor Arkeville found a way to replace our lab equipment, and then some. We’re being offered state-of-the-art machinery. Prototypes. Exactly what we need for this kind of neurology work.”

Sunstreaker watched you light up like a beacon. Your whole body charged, your eyes flicking between him and the back of your assistant’s head. Excitedly, you patted his arm while exclaiming, “That’s great! That’s really good news – _very_ good news! How soon?”

“As soon as you’re able to coordinate.” Holly did not share your enthusiasm. 

Then, Sunstreaker watched the light fade as you read the room. Alan pressed forward, “What's the catch?”

“Payment, of course.” She stopped a ways away before the open door of Ivan Arkeville’s office and turned on her heel. She held your gaze with her serious one. “Other than that, I have my suspicions, but they are only theories. I do not know the woman, and this is all too sudden for me to feel comfortable. She is in his office with him, catching up, as we speak.”

Alan blinked, looking at you. Your brows knitted, “Catching up? Does he know her? Who is she?”

Holly stepped aside, gesturing you ahead, “A ghost from the past, Ma’am. I’ll be right here, listening. If you have a need, say my name.”

_A ghost from the past._ Who would you have known that could help you and Sunstreaker? Fixated, you charged ahead with Alan crowding right behind you. Sunstreaker let you both lead, because you two looked like you could knock a tank aside if it was in the way. He took a few steps before he felt a petite hand literally _stop_ him with a crazy amount of strength, despite her frame. 

The shorter squishy got in his way, and there was something to her optics that was alarming. What did he do wrong? He hasn’t threatened or damaged any of your staff. Did she know about last night? Was there a broach in human customs that was punishable by deactivation? Was she going to break his wrist for real, this time?

“Watch this one,” Holly warned, “I do not know her motivations, but I fully intend on finding out. You report to me on her behavior towards you, understood?”

The mission parameters were clear, but he didn’t _understand_ them. Your assistant, as an anomaly as she was, reported to you. Why wouldn’t she want him reporting this to _you_ as well? Who was this fleshling that had her on edge?

Then he heard the name, gasped from your vocals, “Bethany?”

He knew that name, and _now_ he understood. You used to be close to this human, and after this, you probably wouldn’t have the ability to think straight. He nodded a confirmation to Holly, and she stepped aside to let him peek around the doorframe, taking her post against the wall like a soldier on watch, _listening_. That mini-meatball was fragging _terrifying_ sometimes. 

The woman who was once your best friend bounced across the room and threw her arms around your stiff body. “Eevee! It’s been so long!”

Sunstreaker never had seen you make that face before, like you were suffering from an overheated processor and questioned if you were hallucinating. _A fever dream_. Your moon-wide eyes stared ahead at nothing, and he could only guess what was racing through that squishy head of yours. Alan, though, left nothing to question as he could easily guess how he felt about this encounter.

“The _fuck_ are you doing here?” Alan snarled, cross-armed and blocking the doorway. 

The Autobot didn’t complain, it gave him the cover he needed to take in the features of this fleshling femme. She was a stranger, but only for a moment. A warm ache dully throbbed at his temple as Henri’s memories filled the blanks. Her ocean blue eyes and sunshine blonde hair was the same as the girl in the pictures. Her name was Bethany Beller, and she was your amica endura, once upon a time. 

Bethany released you and sneered in his direction, “Didn’t think you’d be here. Nice to see you too, Al.”

“Fuck you,” He stomped further in the room. If it wasn’t for you, still questioning the limits of reality while standing between them, he would have gotten close enough to slip his cigarette in her pocket. “You don’t get to walk out and come back expecting rainbows and shit. What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

“Fixing _your_ mistake,” She argued, then finally noticed the blond man peeking in the doorway. Her fair skin turned a shade paler as she breathed between her plump, pink lips, “Henri?”

There was something else about her that turned the fuel in his tank sour. The color of her hair reminded him of his alt-mode, and her eyes were nearly the same color as Autobot optics. He straightened, her wide gaze pulling a magnetic sensation from him, and he found himself taking in every feature of her slender frame. 

_Slag_. He found her _attractive_. He was disgusted and curious at the same time. She wore those _clothes_ that were flattering to her frame, and exposed more skin. There was something about this human female’s hips and legs that made him avert his optics. He was not prepared for this. His temples throbbed as his face felt overheated, and he pulled down his hat a little more.

“That’s Sunstreaker,” You said softly like you were apologizing. 

“Oh...yes, that’s right,” Bethany said quickly, gesturing to the old doctor behind the desk, “Ivan didn’t tell me much, except for that this is all classified government work, and I’m about to supply you with what you need to fix –" She pointed in Sunstreaker’s direction, “ _That_.” 

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to remember how words worked, “That’s...that’s all he told you? But –"

“Oh, and a bunch of other stuff that I’m not supposed to know in order to protect myself,” She waved her hand to brush aside the dangers of getting involved, “Now I know that aliens are real, and you’re trying to bring back Henri like some _science experiment_ , and you had a bit of a trip up. All of this is _illegal_ , by the way, but I don’t know a _damn_ thing.”

You flinched at the invisible blow. Sunstreaker worked his jaw, glancing between both of you. In addition to the slight ache to his processor and the unease in his fuel tank, he was starting to develop a bitter taste on his glossa.

“How the _fuck_ did you find us?” Alan said between clenched teeth.

“I called her boss,” Ivan answered, “Curb the language, boy.”

“ _Bite_ the curb, old man.”

“Shocking,” Bethany chirped, “You’re still the same drunk asshole I remember.”

“And you’re still a _bitch_ with a capital _C_ ,” The tech shot back.

Sunstreaker stepped in the heated room and came up beside you. You weren't here. You were staring ahead but not seeing. It looked very similar to one reliving moments best left forgotten, if the yellow gunner was to judge. He risked touching your arm with a brief brush from the back of his hand, and that jolted you back to the present. You met his eyes with the most apologetic look on your face, and he couldn’t fathom _why_. He didn’t like it. You appeared so subdued and timid, and he _did not like it_. Every time this woman spoke, you winced, like you were expecting her to scream at you. Where was that tough little femme that would boss him around?

“Will you two shut the _frag_ up!” He stopped their bickering. He expected that painted tech to turn on him, but he did _not_ expect the thin blonde to react with the same amount of fury.

Bethany crossed the way, ready to stab a well-manicured nail in his chest. “You do _not_ talk to me like –"

She didn’t have the opportunity to finish as you jumped into action. You seized her wrist when it was within reach and yanked it to the side hard enough to stagger her stance on those heels. Then, you took a solid step between her and your patient, stiff-arming her back with a force that nearly caused her to fall. 

The room was quiet as you stood defensively before Sunstreaker, who raised a brow with a slight smirk. _There’s that tough little femme._

“Bah! You’d think you were all children!” Doctor Arkeville stood, waving his hand over the room, “Bickering and arguing – put your petty disagreements aside. Miss Beller has what we need to reverse the incident.”

Bethany righted herself and smoothed out her pencil-skirt suit, “Exactly. I have what you need. I’m owed a little respect.” She took a few steps up to you. “We used to be best friends, so I’ll give you a pass for that little push.”

You clenched your hands into fists at your sides, and Sunstreaker saw that fire return. “Don’t. I didn’t give you one for disrespecting my patient. He is under my care, and if you make any moves to cause harm, I’ll be forced to remove you from his presence. Understood?”

Alan made a taunting _hur hur_ noise – mainly because _he_ taught you that move – and Sunstreaker felt that gross skin on his body tickle with bumps. He liked it when you got that little _unf_ in your tone. Would you still get that straight spinal strut when you faced him in his real body? He hoped so.

She held your serious gaze for a moment, and it was her turn to question the person before her. _You must have changed_. Bethany peered a moment, and you raised your brows, waiting for an answer. She finally nodded slowly, “Understood, _Doctor_. Straight to business, then?”

“Please,” You clipped. You put on a strong front, but Sunstreaker noted the trembling fists at your side. Why did this woman hold so much sway over you?

“I work for Blackrock Enterprises out west,” She said with a puffed chest, “And I was selected to head the new branch of Blackrock Chronic Care institute. We’re into the development of high-tech medical machinery.”

“Uh, question,” Alan raised a finger, and Sunstreaker noticed that it wasn’t his index. “I’ve heard of Blackrock. How the hell does an oil drilling company go into medical tech? And a company we’ve _never_ heard of or else we would have called, and asked for anyone other than _you_.” 

“BCC is just a baby, right now. We’re still testing and building new equipment for our institutes.” Bethany looked as she tasted something bitter while addressing him, “The CEO has a lot of interests. We’re a growing name, having hands in chemical development, aerospace assembly and engineering, weapons advancement, and those at the top are keeping a close eye at the growing popularity of the World Wide Web.”

You looked at Sunstreaker for a moment, questioning if this was _for real_. Was this all falling in your lap? He shrugged and you rubbed your brow before turning to Ivan Arkeville, “How long did you know that she worked there?”

“She’s always written letters to me,” He stated, and scoffed when your jaw hit the floor, “Don’t give me that look. She was a friend to my son as much as you were.”

You weren't Henri’s friend. You were his future conjunx – _fiancé_. Even Sunstreaker knew that struck a nerve.

“Miss Beller stated that they were opening this medical branch, and I called Mr. Blackrock to inquire on a... _deal_.” The doctor said carefully, “You need not worry about the details, just know that you’ll have what you need to reverse this and get back to your proper research.”

There was so much that needed to be said, it was all over your face that you couldn’t decide what to address first.

“Oh, okay,” Alan’s outburst was swollen with sarcasm, “A _deal_. No, that sounds perfectly legal and normal. So is this Blackcock guy another one of your curly-mustache, monocle-wearin’ fucks that deals with organized crime? Don’t answer that.” He exchanged looks with you, “This is the worst deus ex machina ever.”

Bethany huffed, “Get over yourself. I’m here, _now_. Do you want me to bring your machines or not?”

“Yes!” You blurted, “Yes, please. Let me...Let’s...Holly!”

You conjured your assistant by unexplained means as she was just suddenly _there_ behind everyone. With her pen furiously scribbling notes, she said, “Yes Ma’am, I’ll find some space to deliver the equipment, but with the current investigation, there’s no place to set up without attracting attention. We’ll have to produce forged documentation to explain away the research required –"

“Whoa, whoa,” You held up your hands, nearly shrieking, “ _forged documentation?_ Why is everyone so comfortable bending the _law_?!”

You were on the cusp of hyperventilating. You were feeling overwhelmed with everything happening all at once. Sunstreaker chose now to step a little closer, leaning in to catch your eye. You jumped slightly at your shoulder bumping his chest. “Hey,” He said, “I think you should give Prowl that call. He’ll set you up at the Autobot base.”

Your shoulders sagged as you exhaled, silently thanking him as you looked to Holly. The shorter woman nodded curtly, “Shall I ask the Commander, or inform him?”

“Find a good balance of both.” You turned to the group as your assistant darted off. You said to Bethany with that professional chill, “How soon can you get us the shipment?”

“Tomorrow morning at the earliest.” She raised her brows, still trying to read this person who she once knew, “You’re confident you’ll have the space you need? Doctor Arkeville had a long list.”

You nodded curtly, “Prowl will authorize it. He might be a little ticked, but he’ll allow it. Right now, I’m just being polite and _asking_.”

Sunstreaker snorted a laugh, and you regarded him with a small smirk. He didn’t know how you did it, but somehow you made the officer bend _just a bit_. _Primus_ , did he wish you were Cybertronian. 

“I’m sorry, but there's an alien named _Prowl_?”

Alan barked, “I know, right? Even he doesn’t like his own name – weird alien culture. You should totally call him Bacon-bot. It’s his _favorite_ nickname.”

The Autobot-in-flesh noted you _deliberately_ did not correct him and continued to explain, “He is the current Commander of the aliens we work with. If you stick around long enough, you may meet one or two.”

Bethany went from peering at Alan suspiciously to turning a considering look on you. “I think I might. It seems like we have a lot of catching up. You’ve grown, _little Eevee_.”

You flinched. Sunstreaker remembered your parent unit calling you that. Was she being patronizing, or was that a pet-name for you? Either way, you didn’t seem to appreciate it. How did you feel when he called you _tiny femme_? 

“Last I remembered,” Alan jutted his thumb over his shoulder, “We have a job to do at your lab, so I would like very fuckin’ much to put a few feet between me and this bag of _fuck you_. C’mon Sunn –" 

His tantrum induced walk-out was abruptly interrupted by your assistant as she entered through the doorway. She was surprisingly solid in her stance, causing the taller man to bounce off her instead of the other way around. 

“The _fuck,_ Holly!” He recovered everything but his pride, “Wear some goddamn heels so all us _normal_ people can see you!” 

She glanced down at the short heels she was wearing, then turned a sharp glare at the man. Alan relented, giving her a wide berth as he lit another cigarette, muttering and making faces all the way. Holly announced to you, “The Commander is currently en route from the field, and wants to speak with you. I’ll let you know when he arrives.”

“Perfect,” You said, and no one was sure if it was satisfied or cynical. “Alan’s right. I do have work to do, so if you don’t mind,” You gestured Bethany to follow. 

She comfortably took your arm in hers, like you two had never separated. You led the way with the blonde babbling in your ear. Alan grumbled and flicked his lit cigarette _somewhere_ in Doctor Arkeville’s office. Holly had a calculated stare that would make one test their food before eating. Sunstreaker realized that your squad of allies looked like they would commit murder for you. They walked a good distance behind you two, silently watching and trying to listen to what Bethany was saying, but it was all lost in the noise of passersby. The halls were still as crowded as ever with one facility being out of commission. 

Finally, after weaving and pushing past others working within the building, everyone made it to your lab. Your staff was already hard at work with their computers and stacks of files. Tables and counters were pushed around to suit their needs, and it looked like a ritualistic setup. In the center was the all-powerful table of coffee and day-old pastries, and your team surrounded this altar in supplication.

They instantly noticed you and the peaceful sounds of work, the soft mutterings and tapping keys, were broken by the flood of raised voices. Everyone had a question on the subject matter they were tasked to compare with their current data.

Sunstreaker was a casual observer to you returning to your leadership role, doling out orders and how you would be occupied for a bit. It was fun to watch, but not when he was on the receiving end of you being all bossy and authoritative. 

Then Bethany looked from you to him. He met her Liberty-blue optics as she took in his frame, _studied him_. He didn’t much care for it, and he scowled at her. He didn’t _care_ that this body was friends with everyone once upon a time, so he wouldn’t give this strange fleshling whatever comfort she was looking for. He was already dealing with your drama, he didn’t want any of hers. _He was all friended up_. 

You departed for one of the empty counters off to the side and guided your old friend to follow. Your mini-bot assistant was quick to produce two cups of that black-oiled slag, and you drank it like a champ. Bethany, however, turned her nose up, saying something about _cream_ and _sugar_. You smiled patiently as Holly rolled her eyes as she turned to fetch these things. 

Sunstreaker was hailed by one of the male bloodbags within your staff. As soon as he approached, the man immediately started babbling about the nervous system of humans versus the neuro-networking of Cybertronians. _Yep_ , that was a First Aid question. All of these would probably be beyond the front-liner, but he wouldn’t really try to find out. He had a difficult time focusing past eavesdropping on your quiet conversation.

“I knew you wanted to run your own laboratory, but I didn't expect this. This is pretty impressive,” Bethany admitted, sitting across from you with her skirt hiked up over crossed legs. You didn’t much respond until she offered softly, “I need to apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Don’t,” You said quickly, “That’s not important, right now.”

“It is to me,” she hissed, “It’s been years, let me say my piece.”

“Mr. Striker?” The squishy attempted to get his attention again, and Sunstreaker waved his hand to silence him. The doctor was all a-ruffle, “If you can't help me you can just go."

“What's going on?” Alan sidled in with a whisper.

Sunstreaker sidelined, looking between you and the computer screen, “That spindly bloodbag is trying to make amends.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey,” Your staff raised his voice, “If you’re just using my desk to get –"

Alan leaned in dangerously close, “Butters, right?”

“Butler – _Doctor_ John Butler.”

“My boy Bryce mentioned you. He’s growin’ a fuckin’ tomato plant because of you.”

The thin man was breathless, “He did? He is? I – I mean, oh, cool. Whatever.”

Sunstreaker did everything he could to ignore the sputtering meatsack beside him and focus on you.

“...and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He only caught on to a bit of what Bethany was saying. “I was angry and hurt, but you didn’t deserve that. I felt like, no one cared that Henri was my friend, and no one wanted to hear what I had to say because you were marrying him.”

“I know,” you said with that cold indifference Sunstreaker recognized. It took a bit, but when you dropped that wall, you became something a lot more likable. 

Bethany continued in hushed tones, and Sunstreaker had trouble listening in over the conversation beside him.

“...And he hates spicy foods.” Alan finished listing off the likes and dislikes of his coworker

“But he said he _loves_ my salsa,” Doctor Butler gasped.

“And why do you think he’s pretending, you ignorant slut?”

He started fretting, eyes flitting over the keyboard, “He likes cars? I know nothing about cars or –"

“You don’t need to know anything, just be _interested_ for Christ’s sake. Tell him your car needs work and _bam_ , insta-date.”

Doctor John Butler’s face turned red, “It – It’s not a date. We’re just two guys having a beer.”

Sunstreaker did not _care_ what was going on beside him. Whatever crisis this little blob of meat was going through was no concern to him – but strangely a concern to the tattooed tech. Your old friend finally resumed talking at a volume he could hear.

“...You made it clear you were staying in contact with Al, it broke my heart.” It sounded like she was wrapping up the reason for her leaving you completely.

You were calm. Much too calm, but Sunstreaker knew it was all a front. Living with you taught him much of your little organic mannerisms. Your hands were clenched in your lap, working your fingers to resist wringing them together. You were stressed, upset, and everything that would make you scream and cry. _Appear weak_. There was nothing about showing how you felt that was weak. _Humans were dumb_. 

“Alan suffered just as much as we have,” You stated matter-of-factly, “He is my friend, the only one who’s stayed by me, and I’m not going to abandon him.”

“It’s because he feels guilty.”

“Probably,” you said, “Either way, he’s helping me. Just because he doesn’t remember making that phone call –" 

“He was so drunk that he can't. Why would you keep someone around like that?”

“Beth,” You said strongly, irritation edging your tone, “You said all this, _screamed_ all this before you left. Why are you repeating this? Was this the thing you wanted to say? It started as an apology, but now it sounds like you’re just trying to make me feel guilty all over again.”

“I’m not –" 

“Or do _you_ , since you fought with us to turn off his life support?” 

Sunstreaker witnessed the woman straighten. “I fought because that was no way for my friend to live. Henri deserved better.”

He didn’t hear your response as Doctor Butler whisper-shrieked, “You cut my brakes!?”

“Yeah, now you have a date,” Alan’s face twisted in offense, “you’re _welcome_.”

“ _When_ did you _cut_ my –?! It –it’s not a date. I’m not – I’m not one of _those_ people.”

“Oh yeah, no, not one of _those_ people.” Alan rolled his eyes, “That’s fuckin’ offensive, man. Bryce _really_ likes that mixtape you made him.”

“You _know_ about that!?” This man was about to die from spark-failure, and Sunstreaker really wished it would happen _quietly_.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , you children are noisy,” Holly appeared beside Doctor Butler, “You all make terrible spies.”

“Miss LeTene, he cut my brakes on my car,” Doctor Butler tattled.

“Now he’s gotta date with Bryce,” The tech chirped.

“I approve. Mr. Chan is a pleasant man,” Holly had a smile but was more like how a Turesian tumble-snake would bare their fangs. That put Sunstreaker on guard, more than ever. “He asked me how to care for his _plant de tomate._ Very sweet. I’m happy you two are seeing each other.”

Doctor John Butler dug his fingers in his hair, having a mild panic attack, “Does _everyone_ know?”

She gave him a dismissive pat on the head as she leaned over, “Do we know what they’re talking about?” 

The Autobot growled, “I’ve been _trying_ to listen, but you’re all playing fraggin’ matchmaker.”

“Beth’s apologizing,” Alan muttered.

Holly snorted, “Is she, now?”

“I know, right?” He paused, “Wait, how much do you know?”

“Enough to pass judgment.”

Your voice suddenly raised. You were losing your cool. “You were my best friend. I was mourning and you – you wanted to _kill_ him. If it wasn’t for Alan, I would have listened to you. I understand that you felt keeping him alive wasn’t right, but I wasn’t ready to let him go.”

“And when would you’ve been ready? No one is ever ready for that,” Bethany argued, “You would have _never_ been ready.”

“Probably not, but if I listened to you, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to bring Henri back.”

You glanced back, and Holly immediately was in her clipboard, taking notes. Alan was hunched over Doctor Butler, hand forcing Sunstreaker down over the computer screen as he pointed. “Uh the electrochemical properties of energon and the natural electrical impulses of the human brain must have blah blah... okay she stopped listening.”

And you did, turning back to Bethany with the professional response of, “Now, since you wanted to pick at old wounds, are you satisfied with saying your piece, or should I tell you what you wanted to know about the project?”

Bethany took a composing swallow of her coffee and said, “Go on.”

You began telling her everything that Sunstreaker already knew. He swatted Alan’s hand away and spoke to Holly, “The question this squishy’s got is one for the medic. I don’t know slag about our internal neuro-networking system as well as he does.”

The face she made was slightly surprised, then shifted to an approving nod, “Very good. I’ll gather that for First Aid. Thank you. Let me know if there’s anything else.”

He moved to the next of your subordinates, and it was the one who worked with him most – the one he hit in the face. Doctor Jane White didn’t seem to hold it against him as she pointed to a few symbols of Cybertronian. “This was left un-translated. Could you tell me what it means?” 

He looked over the symbols, and he tried hard to think of the human words for it. “Stasis lock.”

“Which means?”

“It’s where we can remain running on the lowest amount of power while staying online.”

Jane made a face, “Online meaning _alive?_ ” 

Primus, he did _not_ have the patience for this. Were you almost done? He needed you, and whatever you were doing was not as important as you helping him. His attention flitted to you as you shifted in your seat uncomfortably. Bethany had a cat-like curl to her lips.

“You mean, he _lives_ with you? Anything interesting happen? Has he tried anything?”

_Ooh_. He didn’t need to be organic to know the connotations behind _that_ kind of talk. Greasy fleshling copulation looked gross and messy and just the thought of any kind of organic fluid on his plating made him shudder.

You seemed more offended than anything else, “He’s not like that.”

With _organics_ , but you didn’t need to know that. He appreciated you standing up for him, nonetheless. 

“Mr. Striker?” Jane inquired, “So stasis lock would mean...what exactly?"

He hunkered down and gestured her to be quiet as Bethany took on a playful tone of a gossip, “Well _that_ wasn’t defensive. You’re close to that alien, huh?”

“Oh,” Jane whispered, “Oh okay, we’re listening in, got it.”

“Sunstreaker has been through a lot...I have been through a lot.” You admitted, “We’ve become friends.”

“I don’t know how. He looks like...well it's weird how you can be friends with someone who’s in Henri’s body.” She didn’t curb her judgmental tone.

“She has no right to say that,” Jane hissed, “Who is she? And who dresses like _that_ in a lab? She’s just asking to get goosed.”

Sunstreaker listened intently on what you’d have to say to that, having no idea what _goosed_ means or how it has to do with waterfowl. He motioned for your minion to be silent.

“It took some time, but Sunny is completely different. I don’t see Henri as much when I look at him.” You glanced back again, and Sunstreaker ducked while Jane looked the part of muttering in his ear – she was reciting lyrics from some popular song and it might as well have been gibberish.

You’ve told him those words. You told him that you see _him_ and not your bonded. He always had reservations, but you were telling _others_. You _confirmed_ it. It left that glittering sensation in his spark chamber. He never thought you’d lie to him but...but you honestly didn’t lie to him. 

“I don’t think I could do that, and it’s fucked up that you can.” Bethany stood, and you turned back to her. As Jane breathed a shocked insult, the blonde continued, “I’ll make the call and you’ll get your machines by morning. Just handle things on your end and make sure my guys get the clearance for the delivery. I’ll be at my hotel, and Ivan has my number.” 

She didn’t wait for your response as she clacked away like an equinoid in those heels. You watched her go and judging by your face, you _knew_ it was strange that you could look at Sunstreaker and see the alien and not the man. 

He couldn’t look away as you turned to him. You held eye contact for several minutes, leaving your thoughts a mystery to the Autobot. Did you feel guilty at that statement? Were you upset with him? Were you searching for remnants of the one you loved? _Primus_ , he hated being organic and everything being _quiet_. If you were bonded to him, he would at least get a sense of how you felt.

He averted his eyes at that thought. 

“Hey Sunny,” Alan called from across the room, “The cipher couldn’t translate this. I can't read electro-dance music.”

The Autobot grumbled, “Its Neocybex, you binary –"

“Whatever.” He sidelined to the man he was assisting, “But EDM is the song of his people.”

“Stop saying that!”

He heard your soft laughter, and you got to your feet, rubbing your sweaty palms on your lab coat. He restrained his smile at yours, and said with faux-agitation, “When do you think you can start bossing your little minions around? Y’know, contribute to helping _me_.”

Doctor Jane White barked, “Hey!” 

You snorted out your nose, peering at him, “Be _nice_ to my staff.”

“I am! I haven’t threatened their tiny little lives once.”

There were confirming nods all around. You closed the distance and took to his side, reviewing what your subordinate was trying to solve. It was nice to see you back in your element, but you were a little different this time. You were distant. Some of the things that were said by that fleshling must have got under your protoform.

Sunstreaker, as frustrated as he would be talking biology and cyberology with you, couldn’t help but admire that sparkle in your eye when you finally got in full swing of your work. He wasn’t lying when he said you’d make a good Autobot and an even better medic. You looked at home, getting behind facts, theories, and data, again. It was like a much-needed old flame reignited in your fuel chamber, and you were able to wrap yourself in old passions. 

“Miss Morgan?”

Sunstreaker was viscerally jolted to reality, seeing that lesser bloodbag agent peeking his head in from the partially open door. “Are you busy?”

You looked about as your staff fought hard to remain busy and not stop to glare at the agent. It was _so_ obvious you were in the middle of work. 

Alan boldly swept his hand over the room, “Oh _no_ , they’re just having a _Pong_ competition and we’re the judges. Butters over here is our reigning champion, so far, but –" 

“It’s _Butler_!” 

“Stop it,” You shot him a pleading look, desperate for him not to make matters worse. “I’ll be back shortly. Please keep up the good work.”

You headed for the door, and Agent Simmons held it open for you. He stole a moment to shoot Alan a furrowed scowl before closing it. 

Sunstreaker couldn’t quite describe the feeling he got when you weren’t in his line of sight. Probably the best way he could, was that he _hated_ it. Your staff started to speak up to one another, asking loads of questions of ‘ _who was that woman?’_ , and ‘ _what happened yesterday?’_ , and ‘ _were you in trouble?’_. 

Both Alan and Holly came to join Sunstreaker as he stared at the door, wishing he was back in his body. He was weak and slow and _unarmed_. If he was back in his frame, he could protect you confidently, without hesitation. He wanted to go after you, but he was so _limited_. So _disgustingly_ weak and _unsure_.

“I really fuckin’ hate that guy,” Alan crossed his arms, glaring lasers at the door. 

“Same,” Sunstreaker muttered. 

Holly let a little of her accent seep through as she spat, “Nothing is more disgusting than a man blinded by his own ego.”

“Aw, stupid and arrogant don’t do it for you?” The tech taunted.

She fixed her glasses, glancing down at the soft beeps at her hip. She checked her pager and calmly began rummaging through her bag. “I prefer someone built like a _Panzer_.”

Alan was taken a little aback, “Have you seen any of our dudes in the military sect?”

“Did I say I was looking for a _dude_?”

Sunstreaker rolled his eyes. What is with these organics always talking about mating? What was happening today? Were there estrus cycles? He shuddered. Did _you_ have one? Which organic species ate their mate? _Should he be concerned?!_

He covered his mild panic and discomfort with a surly cross to his arms. “This is disgusting and all, but I would really like it if I knew where he was taking her. I’m going after them.”

“Nah, you’re not subtle enough. Holly,” Alan’s lips curled in a grin, “Sick em’.”

“That’s the only time I’ll let you say that.” She pulled out a small pill-like device from her satchel and fixed it in her ear. “But I will. _Gladly_ ,” and she took off.

~*~

Agent Simmons wanted to talk, and the hallway was much too busy for you to stand in the way and hold a conversation. You led him down the way to an empty office – the current occupant looking to be away for some reason or another. You instinctively jumped as Agent Simmons closed the door, motioning it to remain open.

“It’s alright, I wanted to speak in private,” He began, not giving you a chance to argue about how this was _not_ your office, and closing the door would be rude and _you were NOT comfortable with it_. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I don’t know if I crossed any lines. With what Mr. Faireborn said, it seems like I’ve crossed them all.”

Your heart was galloping _hard_. You were racing for the chance to end his fixation on you and to gently let him down where he wouldn’t feel slighted in the least. “You were trying to help, I understand that. I just...with everything that’s going on, I don’t think I’m good company. I just need some space –"

“It’s not good for you to be alone, right now. I know I wish someone was there to help me deal with my father’s passing.”

You cut in, “He’s not dead.” 

“No, but...” He looked at you with pity, like you didn’t _get it_. He reached out and set his hand on your arm sympathetically, and _there_ was that lurch to your guts. Whether it was that usual aversion to the warmth of a body or the fact it was _him_ , you wouldn’t really know unless you did some testing. He spoke gently, but a little patronizingly, “You’re right. I’m sorry. He’s not dead.” 

You stepped back, putting some distance between him and his touch, and closing the distance between you and the door. “I should get back to work. Thank you for your sympathies.”

“I understand wanting to bury yourself, but if you want to talk –"

“Don’t worry, I have someone to talk to.”

Agent Simmons’ face screwed for a moment, “Like...Mr. Faireborn? I noticed he was on the visitor list. Ah, this may seem like a strange question, but what relationship do you have with him?” 

There have been moments where you felt the hair on your neck turn to needles of sweat. Moments where you walked to your car, alone, by only the dim light of a streetlamp, and found yourself clutching your keys and walking a little faster. Moments where you could no longer see outside your windows in the darkness, and felt your heart jolt as you caught movement, not knowing if it was your own reflection or not. Moments of feeling _vulnerable_ and _exposed_. 

Agent Simmons turned from a manipulative investigator to an inquisitive bachelor with too much power in his hands. Was he seriously oblivious to how this all looked, or did he know, and he used it to his advantage?

You reported, “He’s been a friend of my family for a long time. My dad helped him through college.” 

“He seems very protective of you.”

“Brothers usually are, and that’s what he is to me. He’s _always_ been.” Your tone was edged with impatience.

“And Mr. Striker?” He interrogated.

You blinked, offended by how absolutely _ridiculous_ this all was, “What exactly are you getting to, _Agent_?”

He inclined his head casually, “They just seem to act as though you’re unavailable to any...interested parties.”

“Who says I’m available?” You snapped out, and dialed it back out of fear, “I... right now, I’m not. With the investigation and my father, I can’t think about boys and dating or _interested parties_.”

Agent Simmons stepped closer again, and you pressed yourself back against the door. Your hand instantly came up to grab the door handle, but he obliviously stopped you to take it in his. “I understand, but I don’t know if you noticed, I’m not a _boy._ You need a friend, right now, and I’m here for you.”

You could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. Your back pressed so hard against the metal door, that you should have _become_ the door. 

He hesitated at first, shyly glancing away before saying, “You’re a lovely woman, Evalyn Morgan. I would love to take you to dinner and get your mind off things.”

You shook your head, unable to form the word _no_. 

He smiled patiently, “It will do you a lot of good. I’ll take you tonight, let’s say...at –"

You’ve done it. You achieved nuclear transmutation. Your organic cells mutated into the aluminum element, and you were fast merging your way to safety. What _really_ happened was that someone opened the door and removed your support from the other side. You were about to test just how hard of an impact your head could handle. 

Your gravitational experiment was halted by the arms of a gallant knight, catching you with smooth grace to swoon any lover of medieval romances. 

“Never lean against the door, _Doctor_.” Holly hummed before turning her razored glare on the agent. She hoisted you back up to your feet and straightened your collar. “You are lucky I have quick reflexes.”

She was your shining savior and it took every ounce of willpower not to hug and kiss the woman. You caught your breath and agreed, “Yeah, I’m very lucky, thank you.”

At first, you thought she was fussing over your appearance. With a sickening punch to the gut, you realized she wasn’t straightening your lab coat, but checking your buttons, checking your arms, _searching_ for any signs of a struggle. _She was seeing if you were a victim_. 

“Your presence is requested at docking bay 10,” Holly reported while fixing your hair behind your ears. 

You swallowed a hard lump, and it hurt going all the way down. Your voice cracked, “Thank you.” You had a hard time meeting Agent Simmons’ confused stare. “I, uh, am needed elsewhere. If you want to schedule anything with me, please speak to Miss LeTene.”

You couldn’t take off fast enough, and you had no regrets letting your pit-bull of an assistant field his dinner request. You could almost _hear_ the woman sniffing with an unimpressed gaze from over her glasses as you vanished within the crowd.

Agent Simmons stepped out to leave but found the petite woman standing in his way. He opened his mouth to speak, but she barreled right over him.

“Please send an official message titled: Scheduling Request for _Doctor_ Morgan Jr.” She snapped out, “Anything different will be discarded without confirmation. Within the request, state the time, place, and reason for your appointment.” 

“It’s dinner,” He said dryly.

“She doesn’t need an _appointment_ to feed herself.” Holly held her head high, and Agent Simmons felt the woman he towered over was looking _down_ on him. “Good day, Agent.” 

“Wait,” He reached and seized her arm, and he couldn’t comprehend in the least what just happened. 

Holly LeTene whipped her arm around his like a coiling snake, trapping his hand in the pit of her arm and forcing his elbow in _the opposite direction_. It was all a flash, a mere moment, but she held him like that long enough to show him what she was capable of. 

Then, just like that, she relented and smiled casually, “Apologies. I don’t respond well to being _grabbed_.”

Agent Simmons held his elbow, shocked. Was that... _did your assistant know martial arts?_ No, that couldn’t be right. It must have been a fluke, why would an assistant to a medical researcher know a move like that. This tiny woman was just a pencil pusher.

“It – it's alright,” He worked his arm, “How did you find her?”

“I have eyes and ears _everywhere_ ,” Holly said with that subtle villainous bite. She stepped back and merged with the highway of people, pulling out what appeared to be a hearing-aid from her ear.

-{0.0}-

You made it through the halls and to the open warehouse that was filled from wall to wall with military, technical, and scientific equipment and machinery. Everyone was busy, heads down. Whether it was to not catch the eye of the surveying agents, or they were actually working, you wouldn’t stop to find out. 

As you passed a group of black-uniformed investigators, they eyed you while muttering to one another. What about, you could only guess. It was probably all over the force, the lead investigative agent's fixation on you. It left an embarrassing heat prickle on the back of your neck. You picked up the pace.

Silently thanking yourself for wearing comfortable running shoes, you made it to the open bay door, searching for what should be easy to find. Across the paved lot, the familiar black and white Autobot stood looking brusque as ever as he tapped on a datapad. You inhaled deeply and continued your long walk, all the while mulling over what you would say to Prowl.

When you were in range, you called out, “Pleasure to see you, Commander.”

He glanced up in your direction and hummed, “Likewise. You are alone?”

“Just me, sir,” You smiled up at him, “I have Sunny busy helping my staff understand the information from Jetfire and First Aid. Everything with his body is fine, though.”

“ _The_ body” Prowl corrected, sliding the datapad in a hip compartment, “What's this message from your mini-con of an assistant? You’re commandeering space within _my_ facility? Explain.” 

“I have access to the equipment I need to perform more comprehensive tests on Sunstreaker. This is what we needed to give us at least a sense of direction on how to proceed,” You responded slowly, recalling what was said. _His_ body, not Henri’s body. You refused to give it more thought as you continued, “We can’t risk an investigative agent walking in on our work. We need a place to set up without interference. I authorized this all with the idea we could work under the privacy of your facility. I’m sorry I did not consult you, first.”

“I see,” He glanced off to the side, thinking before nodding to you pointedly, “I would have allowed it either way. Your apology is not needed.”

You set your hands on your hips and tilted your head from side to side, feeling the strain of looking up. “Well, I know you have a certain protocol and I would hate to deviate from that. I would like to stay off your bad side.”

Nothing escaped his notice. The strict Autobot knelt, “ _Everyone_ is on my bad side, Doctor, but you do take up less space. I’ll designate room for you as soon as I return to base.”

You nodded, replaying the words in your head, and deemed what you heard as somewhat positive. You believed this mech was not capable of giving compliments without expending mass amounts of effort and energy.

“I also have a promising report for you, as well,” Prowl added, “We received word that the Decepticon faction was repelled. Optimus Prime will be sending a team to aid in this situation.”

“A team?” You said breathlessly, “Like, a science team?”

“Yes. Of our very best.” 

Your equipment _and_ help for minds superior to yours. You felt the weight lift from your shoulders. You pressed a palm against your chest to encourage your breath to return. “Thank God. Oh, oh that is very good news. Have I met any of them?”

“I doubt it,” He answered, “This team is just too valuable to get stationed somewhere as low-key as this... _destination_. Sunstreaker will know them, though.”

“He’ll be so happy to hear this.” You took deep breaths, trying to keep this well of emotions under control. The world around you started to blur to only colors as you couldn’t seem to fill your lungs with enough air. It was cold, wet pavement, but you didn’t care as you sat down on your legs. 

“Doctor Morgan?” Prowl’s hands hovered over you, “What is it? Are you malfunctioning?”

“I’m just...I’m just...” You couldn’t hold it down as the world rocked back and forth. It was like this rotating maze finally slowed to a stop and revealed an exit. You wandered and hoped till you just pressed your back against the wall and waited. You held on and waited for what you knew to be too long. Finally, good things were happening. _Finally, a light._

“You’re venting your systems too rapidly.” You felt the officer’s hand brush over your side, and you brought your head up to see him kneeling closer. “Can you stand?”

You reached out to use his hand to brace yourself, but missed by mere inches. You hung your head, trying to slow your breaths. “A...a minute...please.”

Prowl was quiet as you counted yourself down. Between yesterday and now and _when was the last time you ate?_ The world stopped see-sawing, and you lifted your head to see the officer waiting, still like a sculpture. You sat back on your legs, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“It’s been over an Earth minute.”

You didn’t bother to explain to him that just because someone asks for a minute doesn’t mean _just_ a minute.

“It was not my intention to overwhelm your stabilizers,” Prowl said, and somewhere between the lines it had the distinct flavor of an apology. He nearly touched you as he held his hand close enough for you to use. “Stand up.”

“I’m alright, thank you,” You groaned out, using his help to rose on jellied legs. You didn’t expect him to use his other hand to cup along your back, guiding you. When you appeared sturdy, he hesitantly pulled his hands away, like you would while building a card-house on a rickety table.

Without a word, Prowl stood and took a few steps back before transforming. You swayed again as you watched him fold and shift in on himself, wishing he would have just gone a _teensy_ bit slower. _Man, did you miss Bluestreak, right about now._

The cruiser’s driver door opened to you, “Get in. You’ll accompany me on planning where you’ll be stationed.”

_Made sense_. You took a coltish step forward before gaining the confidence of a full stride. When you were settled, the door closed for you and the Commander took off at a speed you were not accustomed to. “Is everything alright with you? You’re moving slower than usual.” 

“I’m aware,” He clipped back, “I’m giving you time to collect yourself. Would you...would you like to take the long way around?” 

You couldn’t stop the smile that split your lips. You sunk into the seat further. “I don’t mind. Would you like to tell me about your day?”

“Yes, I think I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Log: ̸ ̡҉҉.͘͢͢͠•͢ɻ ᶆྻꉺლ༽ะะh̸͙̻͍͕͐̊́̋͢͡
> 
> It is forbidden, but I cannot turn my thoughts to anything else. The thought of this little human femme, this soft gem among the stars, sends my spark glittering with pulses of delight. The sounds of her vocals as she says my name, how she says *Commander* – I cannot!  
> When she’s seated inside of me, it’s simple perfection. No amount of numbers or calculations could amount to the feelings that course though me when her little servos touch me. If only she knew what she does to me as she runs them over my doors. It takes everything that I have not to rattle my plates as my frame shudders. She is so small, so finite, and she holds so much power over me.  
> How I wish to tell her with my own voice box how I feel, but she is of flesh, and I am of metal. I am a titan compared to her, yet there is nothing I crave more than to hold her delicately within my servos. But there are times where she looks at me with those optics that sparkle like space dust, and she has a smile like a sly turbofox, and in that moment I *feel* like a titan. How would she react to know what I do, thinking of her at the end of my shift, and I’m all alone. When I touch my interface—
> 
> “WHO WROTE THIS!?” Prowl roared, tearing through the facility, “Who tampered with MY LOGS!?”  
> He stopped at the lab, where First Aid, Jetfire, Bluestreak, and Sideswipe collected around Sunstreaker’s body. They looked like they were in the middle of taking a break, having cubes of energon set beside and on the frame. It was a little morbid, but that’s not what Prowl was focused on.   
> “Paint-job at it again?” First Aid cocked his head.  
> “Ohh no, it was someone with Cybertronian knowledge,” He pointed a digit at Sideswipe, “Was it you? Did you write this swill? You think this is funny?”  
> Sideswipe held up his hands, “Whoa, whoa. Write? Do I *look* like a writer?”  
> “It can’t be that bad,” Jetfire tilted his drink at the officer, “What's it about?”  
> Prowl felt his frame grow a few degrees hotter, “It doesn’t matter, it’s inappropriate.”  
> “What’s so inappropriate about it?” Bluestreak asked innocently.  
> The officer vented a few times before answering, “All I’m going to say is, I’m going to find out who did this, and they will be SORRY they were ever forged.” With that he stormed off to send a few hundred more requests for re-deployment.   
> First Aid calmly brought up his datapad, taking a sip from his cube as Bluestreak and Sideswipe leaned in.  
> "And then what happens?"  
> "Yeah!"  
> The Medic surveyed his work, “Okay, okay, calm down. Where was I? Oh yes... ‘Some nights I have to shut off my vocalizer...’”
> 
> ~~~~~~ For LimitedPractice with the idea that First Aid writes fics in Prowl's logs. It's not a whole companion parody fic, but it'll have to do... for now.


	20. Blowing on Coals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when one attempts to remove something from their day to day, they realize just how much of a hole it leaves, and they want it more than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should pick up on a new hobby or draw some more but...*writes a 1000 more words*... I just feel so busy. I mean, I feel like I don't have much time for anything else. *looks up Raoul/Tracks content because I adore cross-species friends/lovers* Yep... soooo busy. *writes 1000 more words because I don't want to do laundry*
> 
> I endeavor to make shorter chapters in the future, but I got a little carried away here. Sorry for another chunk of content. 
> 
> Hope you all are still safe, healthy and secure. You are all in my thoughts when I write.

Yesterday was an experience you still questioned.

Between being blindsided by your once-best-friend returning after three years of no contact, to the technology you needed falling in your lap, to the superior intelligence of the alien mechs coming to your aid, to Prowl being _nice_. Sleep did not come easy as you recounted the day.

It must have been a sight to the other bots as the Autobot Commander perched you on his shoulder, inspecting the alien base for the best place to set up your new laboratory. Prowl made sure you knew it was for efficiency sake, because between you being so weak and slow and him needing both hands to make notes in his datapad, this was the only choice he had. You had no delusions that there was any other reason, but you were taken aback with how he so suddenly needed to make sure you knew. That didn’t stop you from taking in the profile of his sharp facial features. 

Did the Autobots know they were so aesthetically pleasing to the eye? To _your_ eye, specifically? They must have, because the vainest of them consistently reminded you that he was the _fairest of them all_.

You laid there in the darkness of your room, willing sleep to come, but your heart began to waltz to the memory of giving Sunstreaker the news. His eyes glittered with tears as he wrapped his arms about your waist and lifted you for a proper twirl. You yelped with laughter, infected with his excitement, adoring that look of glee on his face. It was when the alien set you down, cupped your face in his hands, and pressed his forehead against yours, is when the corpses of those long-dead butterflies roused from the grave.

Your vision filled with the blur of his alien-blue eyes, and for a flash of your existence, you were gazing into starlight. You sucked in the air between you, still tasting of the foreign ozone and oil that stuck to your hair from your visit. You couldn’t close your lips. In this modicum of time where there was only you and this million-year-old being, these two grains of sand alone in this infinite universe, you felt this anticipation. Your head tilted up invitingly by just a hair.

Mortified by this knee-jerk reaction, you quickly lowered your head and he tucked it under his chin, continuing to squeeze you tightly while babbling his gratitude. He buried his face in your hair, and you felt his lips as he spoke against you. You clutched him tighter, hiding your face as you tried to convince yourself that it was just a natural response. It didn’t mean anything.

You could have sworn you saw Alan pass Holly a five-dollar bill, but maybe it was a note.

Your heart graduated from a waltz to a full-on ballet performance, warding away the sleep you so desperately wanted. You pressed your hand over your chest like you could convince it to calm down. You winced in the darkness as you recollected the realization that if Sunstreaker kissed you, _you would have reciprocated._ You _wanted_ to reciprocate.

You tried self-analyzing, to locate when the change occurred. The Scientist mapped out a timeline, and you felt this fondness for him grow since the night you smuggled him home. You tried to see him like any other alien mech, and when your relationship graduated to platonic touching, it didn’t rouse any sleeping desire within. You reveled in the closeness, not because you needed a friend, but because you were overcoming a personal struggle.

When Bethany shined a light on how _wrong_ it was that you found a way to cope with seeing Henri’s face regularly, you tried to see it from her perspective. She came in this late in the game, when you and Alan already found ways to see only Sunstreaker and not the body he was wearing. Yes, you felt a little self-conscious as some of her words needled under your skin, and maybe you begun building a little wall between you and Sunstreaker, at least until you found a comfortable way to deal with this. You started coming up with ways to distance yourself.

Then, at that moment when you felt the urge to kiss him, was when it all came to the surface. Your plans of stepping away had the opposite effect, and you found yourself _not wanting to_. You psychologically pulled yourself apart to find where the attraction rooted itself and yank it out. You found yourself only thinking more on that arrogant smirk and that cocky demeanor, and how his eyes glittered when telling you a _good_ story that would make you smile. You thought of those arms around you, those fingers exploring the strands of your hair, the rumble of his chest when he was quiet, and how he playfully tested your patience.

You didn’t know what to do with these feelings. You certainly weren’t going to _act_ on them, but they felt like a smoldering fire. You tried to fight and deny, but like blowing on coals, you were only making it worse.

The hallway light flicked on, and the culprit came rushing in your room. You sat up just in time for him to rip off the covers and _Thank God_ your mind didn’t immediately go to all those silly romantic westerns of men taking _what's theirs_.

“What!? What happened?!” You croaked like an injured possum.

Sunstreaker started pulling on your arm. “It’s time to get up! We gotta go to work.”

You glanced at the clock. It was a full three hours before your team agreed to meet and empty your lab. You let out a long groan and fell back on your pillows. You didn’t sleep _at all_. “It’s too early. No one’s ready, yet.”

He continued to pull you across the mattress before kneeling on your bed and giving you a few shakes. “Make them ready. I can’t sit around any longer.”

“They need their sleep,” You grumbled and swatted him away. You curled up in a defensive little ball with a whine, “Just like I do. Did you get any?”

“I couldn’t recharge for a single nanoklik,” He flopped down beside you, shadowed face a respective distance from yours, but still close enough make you feel a few things. “You?”

You tried to focus on his eyes, catching hints of that bright blue in the darkness. “No.”

“You should’ve come and got me.” He stretched out with a groan, “We could have been miserable together and watched that primitive entertainment box.”

Your thoughts weren't of sitting on separate sofas while watching fuzzy late-night programs, but of leaning against him, comfortable in his arms and falling asleep, again. That night of letting him embrace you was a mistake, but it was one that you wanted to make again so badly. You knew you fell asleep on him, but when you woke he was on the floor. You must have made him uncomfortable. You wanted to talk about it, but how would you even open up such an embarrassing topic?

You felt your bed shift, and he scooted closer. You froze, terrified of what he would do and what you were willing to _let_ him do.

“I’m hungry,” He rumbled, “Why don’t we get up, fill our tanks, and head out a little early? First, let’s hit your private wash-rack.”

_Hungry._ You squeaked, “Wash...together?”

You could _hear_ his face twist as he blinked, “No...? I thought that was, like, your _private_ _time_ , or something.”

“It is,” You blurted, “I just...got confused.”

“Welcome to my world. You organics are _weird_.” Sunstreaker sat up, stretching his arms above his head and grunting the manliest of grunts and _you had to do something about this_. “We could save time and resources if we’d –"

“I’ll go first,” You hurled yourself off the other side, bouncing up to your feet and scurried out. “I’ll be quick.”

And you were, because nobody wants a cold shower to last more than five minutes.

^[o.O]^

You felt _much_ better.

Especially when Sunstreaker started picking at your _‘drab fabrics’_. You were dressed for labor as was the rest of your team, who were the whiniest herd of kittens poor Holly had to keep to task. They had the noodle-arms and soft hands of scientists. That’s where Alan and his staff stepped in, and it was like watching two different schools meeting at summer camp. Your team was a few finger-snaps away from a dance-off, and Alan’s were a few clanky beer bottles away from taunting.

You welcomed the chilled morning. The sweat along your hairline felt like ice and the breeze made your face flush. This gave you a _great_ excuse when you had to usher in the semi-trucks delivering your equipment, and you _really_ started sweating under the pressure. The guards didn’t ask so many questions on the shipment, as it seemed you in casual jeans and a jacket was more of an anomaly.

The trucks unloaded the pallets of machinery _outside_ this suspiciously unmanned facility filled with vehicles and aircrafts. A familiar Porsche came rolling up, and Bethany came stepping out with perfect curls bouncing with every movement. You took in her powder baby-blue blazer and pencil skirt with an all-too-tight black under-shirt. _How was she not freezing?_ To this day, she always looked like she walked out of a fashion magazine.

_“You killed him!”_

You ripped your eyes away from her. She blamed you for letting Henri leave the house, for not finding someone closer to pick up Alan, for not going with your fiancé and driving instead. She was right. There were so many other things you could have done. Those years ago, you could have done so much to avoid all of this.

_“He doesn’t deserve to live like this!”_

Bethany was right to accuse you of holding onto the man you loved. She accepted that he would never wake on his own, but you couldn’t. You _wouldn’t_ , and look where it brought you. You may feel guilty for Henri’s condition, but how does she feel now that you _refused to give up_? It was a prideful sensation that you ignored, because you were better than that urge to rub her face in it.

But your pride was small compared to her judgment. You saw Sunstreaker when you looked upon your patient. You felt ashamed by her words of it being _fucked up_. You did what you had to, to cope with seeing Henri every day, but it not _being_ your fiancé. You just didn’t expect this involuntary attraction.

The voluminous blonde spoke with what must have been the foreman of the delivery crew, signing sheet after sheet on his clipboard. You continued to empty the last of your office effects onto a dolly and pushed it inside the building. All around you, vehicles of all makes and models sat silently as the semi-trucks finished unloading. It was a little eerie, how well the Autobots could blend in, how they appeared like normal cars, and how you couldn’t tell if they watched you or not.

You abandoned the dolly along the wall for someone to cart in later and returned to where the foreman was insisting they moved these very expensive machines further inside. It was pretty obvious he had eyes on a few of the vehicles and wanted to get a closer look. You lingered around a police cruiser, watching Bethany giggle with a flirtatious toss of those locks, giving one excuse or another why that wasn’t happening.

For as chilled as the air was, the sun was making it difficult for you to decide if you were warm or not, so you fixed a hip against Prowl’s door as you shrugged off your jacket. The sky was a wonderful vivid blue, and you couldn’t help but feel your mood change. This was good. This whole thing was going well. You pressed your back against the door, tilting your head to take in the clouds. You gulped down a deep breath and let it out slowly.

You pawned off Sunstreaker to one of your employees as soon as they arrived, putting as much distance between you two as possible while you worked. You were lonely. That’s all. You molded yourself to the curve of the metal, pressing your palms against the cool plating of the door. You just had to hang on a little longer, and soon you’ll have Henri’s arms around you. Sunstreaker was a passing distraction, in more ways than one, and you should be ashamed of yourself for the inability to control these base thoughts and reactions. You let out another long breath, splaying your fingers to feel the warm steel under your touch. Things would be much easier if Sunstreaker was back in his –

_WOOP!_ The sirens blared once, but it was enough to have you jump upright. You whipped around to glare at the cruiser, then up at where the movers were staring in your direction. You laughed nervously, making a few unintelligible noises while waving at the car. They just went right back to work.

The last of the pallets were unloaded, and the paperwork was in order. Soon, the teams of semi-trucks were seen out of the government property by your assistant. As Bethany went back to her car to organize the files she had, you eagerly turned to watch the bots transform to their bipedal forms in succession.

Prowl, with a few curt hand gestures, ordered the bots to begin bringing in the pallets of your equipment. He then peered your way like the _bad cop_ of every serial drama.

You tied your jacket around your waist, unable to keep a steady gaze his way. “What? Sorry for leaning on you. Didn’t mean to offend.”

He grumbled a moment, glancing off and muttering, “Just...keep those small servos to yourself.”

You nodded. Most bots – especially Bluestreak – didn’t mind tactile contact. Maybe some didn’t hold the same sentiment, but why? Your tall, metal friend came off that he didn’t feel much when you ran your hands over his frame, and he had no reason to _mislead you_.

“Of course,” You said, trying to move past your blunder, “Again, sorry. I’ll be more conscious of it from now on. Any news from the incoming science team?”

“They are en route,” He reported, “it will be a few Earth days. They fixed a quantum generator on their transport, but that can only go so long without needing recharged. It’s a real pain to maintain, and to continuously jump from star system to star system – _ugh_ , my processor aches just thinking of all that constant blue-shifting.”

To bite back your wistful sigh was impossible. How thrilling it must be to traverse space – _galaxies_ – and be able to _complain about it_. You resisted asking the specifics on _everything_ he just said, because you probably wouldn’t understand a lick of anything, and you would just annoy the hell out of Prowl, _and_ movement in your peripheral caught your attention. 

A black van pulled up. You saw who the driver was. You stole a few steps towards the new visitor. “Shit.”

The heavy footfalls of Prowl didn’t cause you any fear as much as it had Bethany. She hesitated to come your way, casting a wary glance upwards. She probably thought the same way as all the others, that you were _insane_ for turning your back on these creatures that could flatten you in one step.

The police-mech gruffly ordered the others and posted up by the hangar doorway, “Faster. Move it.”

Agent Seymour Simmons stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting his tie and taking a cursory glance about. You hissed out a new curse: _Fuck._

Bethany finally sidled up beside you, still checking behind her shoulder at the mech she only briefly met yesterday night. You were a little surprised with how quickly she processed it all, but she eyed them as many others would: guarded and biased. They were not human, therefore, they may be a threat. Right now, there was only _one_ threat.

She sidelined, “That’s your stalker?”

You answered with a weary bob of your head, and she _tsked_ and crossed her arms, “What are you complaining for? That’s the jaw-line of a real man.”

You slowly raised a disbelieving brow. “I’m _engaged_.”

“You’re such a square,” She huffed and giggled, “It’s the sexual revolution. Find empowerment through self-discovery. Live a little and loosen up, Henri will understand.”

A face flashed in your mind’s eye, and you hurriedly blacked it out before the guilt could show on your face. You glared at the party-girl, more from making you think of _someone else_ than her suggesting you _cheat_ on your significant other. You forced a patient smile and indicated with the tilt of your head, “By all means, have at him.”

Agent Simmons was in earshot when he started speaking, “Miss Morgan, I didn’t realize you were so busy. What's all this?”

Why did this man always seem surprised when you were _working_? You laughed, but it came out tenser than intended, “I have a _job_ here, Agent. I’m _always_ busy. And this...all this is...medical equipment to replace the ones that were lost in the blast. Have you found anything else on that, by the way?”

Your attempt at redirection worked, and he answered, “The videotape is pretty damaged. We could see that the alien material was unloaded, but it’s unclear whether that caused the explosion, or some sort of mechanical malfunction, or...something _else_.” He added with such ominous flair. He couldn’t have meant sabotage from the Autobots – _that’s just plain absurd!_

He eyed you up and down, taking in your faded jeans and dingy shirt. You were sure you didn’t appear very flattering, but you wanted to look anything but. He continued, “So far, everything else seems in order, but Doctor Arkeville is having difficulty finding the manifest so we can see why such a large amount was requested from the aliens.”

“Those science types,” Bethany interjected, slightly nudging you aside as she flipped her hair back, “Unless its research notes, they never keep anything else organized, and even then.” She held out her hand, “Bethany Beller, currently representing Blackrock Chronic Care Institute. We are the company currently fulfilling the contractual agreement.”

“Seymour Simmons, Government Agent, and Lead Investigator.” He looked her over curiously, and you hoped he had found a new _interest_. You had no trouble admitting Bethany was far more attractive, you actually _prayed_ he would think so.

Unfortunately, he was more interested in the goings-on around Prowl, “Why are the replacements being loaded in the alien facility and not our own?”

Prepared by your lifeline of an assistant, you repeated the excuse like it was your own, “With Facility C still being out, there's just no room available to rebuild my lab. The Autobot Commander was kind enough to offer space so we can advance our testing.”

“You need room to test rats?” He lowered his voice, eyes flitting to the officer who regarded him so hawkishly.

A part of you hated how smoothly the lie left your lips, “We still don’t fully understand the effects of the molecularly deconstructed energon, even with specific additions of protein chains, and how it can medically affect the organic tissue without breaking down cellular walls on a –"

He held up his hand and _actually_ shushed you. He cut you off and continued to look over the area. “This seems a little unconventional.” He stole a few steps closer and leaned in, _looming_ over you, “If not a little irresponsible. I understand that was a rough day for you, but have you forgotten what I offered?”

That _rough_ day consisted of a helicopter ride from hell and watching your father seize back into a coma, believing the experiment was a success. You averted your eyes at the memory of Sunstreaker comforting you, and noticed Bethany crossing her arms and shifting her stance. She was offended _for_ you. Her face was still an open book, as always, and you knew she pieced together why you found this man off-putting.

Agent Simmons, though, either thought he had the biggest pair on site, or he was incredibly stupid to bring up your new employment opportunity to betray these supposed allies of your country. Your _planet_. You had to recover for a moment because being called _irresponsible_ was not something you were used to.

“This is perfectly safe and a _joint_ effort. We’re helping one another in a mission of discovery,” You said with teeth-grinding patience, “What could they possibly learn and use against humanity?”

Now his voice was a scolding whisper, like how you would address a child putting their hands on the oven knobs before they learned what _fire_ meant. “I get that you have this nerdy little thing for the NBEs, but this isn’t some science fiction film. You have no idea what these things are capable of. _I do_. This is real life and I need you on board.”

Your jaw dropped. _How dare he?!_ Bethany turned away, shaking her head as he continued with a patronizingly slow explanation.

“They can learn how we work, what our weaknesses are, just from your research alone.”

You were unable to keep from snapping at the end of your chain, hissing like a den of devils, “All they have to do is walk in a library and open a medical book – a history book! We’ve been slaughtering each other for ages, finding better ways to do it, and you’re worried that the Autobots are going learn how to create medicine from what's already lethal to us?”

Agent Simmons took in your reddened face with wide eyes. He looked more shocked than upset, and for a flash, you regretted standing up for yourself. You shouldn’t have done that. Now you looked like you aligned yourself with these aliens, and he had every right to escort you off to the interrogation room. You quickly mapped out a plan of how you would counter being a sympathizer to those who were already _allies_ to your government – because evidently, _that_ was unacceptable. _Whatever, you didn’t make the rules._

You swallowed the breath you were holding as he blinked himself into composure. “I didn’t realize calling you a nerd would get you so upset.”

You didn’t want to live on this planet, anymore.

“Listen, I hear you,” He set his hands on your stiff shoulders, bending down to meet you face to face, “but this isn’t some rebel army chucking gas grenades. These things can turn our planet into a glass parking-lot and –"

“That’s what we’re fighting _against_ ,” Prowl added _very_ sternly.

You sucked in a breath between your teeth. _Awkward_. You forgot whispering at this distance was absolutely useless. “Yeah, and I hear _you_ , but so does he. They...They can pick up sound pretty well. Some more than others.”

Agent Simmons released you and straightened, rubbing the back of his neck and grumbling, “Right. Of _course_ they do.” He stepped around you and towards Prowl, “It’s my job to prepare for anything. I have to take everything into account. National security, and all that. You understand, ah, _Commander_.”

“I understand that more than you know, human,” He said jadedly.

“Good. Glad we have an understanding,” The agent took a few bold strides towards the open hangar door, “So I’ll just have a look around and –"

“Not this time,” The Autobot held up his hand.

That boldness deflated. Agent Simmons stilled as if that sub-zero glare of Prowl’s froze him in place. “Ex- excuse me?”

“Did you not hear me or you’re unable to comprehend your own language?” That infamous disposition reared its head, and he scoffed, “I _hate_ repeating myself.”

The tall man gesticulated with the same amount of fervor as his protesting, “You escorted one of our investigators before –"

“I’m aware because _I_ coordinated it,” He cut him off in a volume that made you flinch, but by _God,_ you were _loving every minute of this_. “We follow a strict protocol that everyone adheres to. Only after that _competent_ agent was cleared, I allowed temporary access to our operations. Doctor Morgan and her subordinates have passed my inspection and are on a permanent roster. You are a visitor.”

The irony of that last bit had Agent Simmons reeling, “I’m – _I’m_ the visitor? You’re set up on government property. I have clearance to investigate _everything_ on these grounds.” 

Prowl held up a datapad, looking over it but you suspected he was just making the agent wait for his response. “I have no documentation on your credentials. You’ll have to take up your issues with your employers. These security procedures are backed by the local government agency.”

“My employers? That’s the government – I _work_ for the government!”

“Hnnn.” He lazily bounced the glowing datapad in his hand, “I don’t see your name. Why don’t you contact that skittish liaison of yours and have _them_ call me.”

You couldn’t breathe. You knew for a _fact_ the liaison _hated_ talking to Prowl, _dreaded it_ , and did everything they could to avoid it. Your entire body rattled as you swallowed a snort, summoning the power of a thousand suns to get your giggle under control. Seeing Bethany cover her mouth to bite down on her snickers only made it worse.

You ended up coughing and calling attention to yourself. Agent Simmons turned to you, waving in the direction of the police-mech like _you_ could do something – mind you, he didn’t ask if you were alright as you were choking on your own saliva.

“Com-Commander.” You cleared your throat a few times, silently hoping he wouldn’t take your half-hearted request. “Do you think you could bend the rules, just this once?”

Turns out you didn’t have to hope at all as Prowl planted hands on his hips and bent just slightly enough to cast a shadow. He stressed each syllable of your name and title, “ _Doctor Morgan_ , I do _not_ bend rules. Just because you’re occupying _my_ space doesn’t give you a voice in how I run things. You’re lucky I agreed to this, despite how irritating it is to always check _under-ped_ wherever I step.”

You blinked owlishly. Prowl’s face gave _no_ indication that he was acting with you or not. The Scientist in you jotted a quick note to stick by the walls while traversing the facility.

“And you, _small male_ , don’t harass this human medic and her subordinates to find you access. It’s pathetic and sad for someone of your _supposed_ position. Follow the protocol like everyone else.” He tapped on his datapad a bit and cocked his head in a haughty display, “It’s my job to be prepared and take every threat into account. Cybertronian security, and all that. You understand, _Agent_.”

You were _tickled_. To witness the officer sling some sass that wasn’t directed at you? You didn’t think you had it in you to like the Autobot even more. Bethany slid in close, blowing a soft whistle, “Ouch.”

_Definitely._ You clenched your jaw tighter as Agent Simmons whirled back around and stormed up to you like a linebacker about to haul you over his shoulder. You silently panicked, and nearly ripped yourself away as Bethany linked her arm around yours to hold you in place. Was she offering you? Had she turned on you? Was she going to give you up?

You couldn’t stop yourself from staggering back, even with the blonde rooting you down. Your voice cracked as he closed the distance, “I – I’m sorry –"

“Where is this _liaison_? Which building are they in?” He demanded with that same face you saw in the stairwell. His bared teeth, his wild eyes darker than before, his reddening neck and that vein bulging from his temple. The Scientist in you calmly held up a list of the effects of stress and high blood pressure, and the correlation of aggressive behaviors.

You stammered out the alphabet before he lost his patience and turned on Bethany, “You. Answer me.”

She did so with a coolness that didn’t seem real, “Doctor Arkeville coordinated my visit here.”

Agent Simmons growled as he turned away and stomped to his van. He was getting in as you finally managed to catch your breath. He looked minutes away from exploding, and you didn’t know – _didn’t want to know_ – what that would look like. Worse, if he had tried to take you in, you would hope it would be without incident. There a facility full of trigger-happy mechs and an assistant with a skill-set that was _not_ on her resume behind you.

The engine turned over, and he peeled out of the lot. You turned your wide, curious gaze to the woman whose actions were completely bizarre to you. She looked down at you from the corner of her eye, smirking like the cat that knocked down all the glass knick-knacks, “Was that your first bull-rush from a guy?”

“Maybe?” You peeped.

She laughed with that confidence you always admired. “I work in corporate. As soon as you flinch, they know they got you. You’ve got to stand your ground.” She released you, and her mood shifted to something a bit more condescending, “Look’s like some things stay the same, eh?”

Bethany just had to go and ruin it. Your reunion was not a joyous one, but you had moments fantasizing that it _was_. That she said all the right things, and you forgave her and found the ability to let go of this pitch black resentment. You missed your best friend. You missed those days where all four of you were young, and there was nothing but open roads of opportunity and freedom on the horizon. You missed the gang all being together.

“Something to consider,” She added, “Men like that, they don’t like being challenged, to feel _small_ , despite...” She waved her hand in Prowl’s direction, who simply watched with crossed arms. She flashed a nervous grin, “You’ll get further stroking their ego than trying to break it. You don’t have to like them to _pretend_ they’re your hero. It’s much easier.”

You cocked your head. What the _hell_ was she suggesting? You’d be friends with Agent Simmons? You’d _stroke his ego?_ How the hell would you even do that without compromising _yourself_?! You were a bit repulsed, and it showed, “And how would you know? Tested, tried, and true?”

“ _Chh_ , yeah,” Bethany snorted, “There are so many pretty girls that work for Blackrock Enterprises, but _I’m_ the one chosen to head the newest branch and sit in on the CEO meetings. You think I got here on my looks alone? Give me some credit, for once.”

You heard Prowl grunt disapprovingly, and you figured your thoughts aligned. Intelligence and manipulation were two separate things. You started to inch away. “I should go give Doctor Arkeville notice that Simmons is probably going to kick down his door.”

She waved you away, “I can do it. I have to let Ivan know the shipment was received, anyways, and plan to meet up with him for a few signatures.” She didn’t wait for your confirmation before she left you to seek a phone terminal within the building. Prowl tracked her movements with a distasteful curl to his lip.

You took a moment to yourself, fixing back on your jacket and shaking off what just happened. It would be stupid to think Agent Simmons wasn’t going to be a problem from here on out, but was he wanting to investigate the alien facility because it was his duty, or because it was a place where he couldn’t reach _you_?

Bethany was _wrong_. That was the method she always implemented, using people and relying on ways different from yours. While you studied for a test, she partied and managed to get the answers to pass. She made friends so much easier than you, and it was because she had a knack for finding out _everything_ about them while you struggled not to bore them with facts about antibodies. With all of her faults, though, Bethany made you feel like the most important thing in her life. She gave you the love of a sister, and it made those teen years without a mother less painful.

You pulled yourself out of memory lane and took the exit to the potholed road of reality that would eventually damage your alignment. You’d have to let Holly know what happened with Agent Simmons, but at this point, your assistant was nearly on par with Prowl and his offers of _disposal_. 

“Just say the word.”

You jumped at his voice, instantly questioning if you were thinking out loud. You turned to face him, standing stoutly while looking over his datapad – _whatever the hell it said_. You had half a mind to accuse him of using it as a prop.

You sighed out a little laugh, “I’m surprised you’re waiting on my say-so.”

“You’ve made it clear that you’ll not tolerate anyone impeding your work,” His optics regarded you as he lowered the pad, “And you get _noisy_ when you’re displeased.”

“I can get worse, I’ve been told,” You attempted to joke with the stern mech.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, “That wasn’t a challenge.”

You laughed at first, then realized your humor fell flat and he took you seriously. You sighed heavily and meandered your way towards the hangar doors. Maybe Prowl was incapable of laughing. What a pity. You loved hearing Jazz’s rich and musical laughter. You wondered what he’d do in a situation like this, and how he’d handle Seymour Simmons.

“You didn’t need to add that part about the agent bothering me, but I appreciate it.”

Prowl finally slipped his reading material in his hip-compartment and focused on you, “Your mini-con assistant broached me on the situation, and I cannot express the amount of disapproval I have without some form of a casualty count. That organism tries my patience by just being a _blip_ on my radar.”

You chuckled and nodded your agreement, coming close enough to take in the full height of him, eyes tracing up along his frame. Prowl was a bastard when you first met him, and he continued to be a menacing force to anyone who interacted with him. The things he was doing for you, though, there was something under all that cold metal that you grew fond of.

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” He said tightly, glancing away, and you could have _sworn_ you caught a hint of discomfort.

Maybe you were a little obvious with your exploratory gaze that lasted longer than what was deemed appropriate. You continued walking past him, saying, “Seeing you put him in his place, though. That was _really_ awesome. I don’t know if you saw the look on his face, but I could totally hug you for that.”

Prowl ordered sharply, “Move along. You have a lab to run.”

You glanced back, and he didn’t even look your way. You moseyed down along the wall, fighting a growing worry of offending the Commander. Before you turned a corner, you checked back one last time. Prowl’s stalwart posture relaxed as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chestplate. You caught onto the _faintest_ of smirks on his face, but maybe your eyes were going bad. You told yourself that everything was fine.

You walked down the makeshift hall, careful to stay out of the way of passing bots. Few noticed you, but everyone seemed distracted with what was happening within the room further down the way. Tinny music played as loud as the speakers could take, and judging by the genre, Alan’s crew got a hold of the tape-deck. Your staff didn’t have much taste for the band _Iron Maiden_.

Down along the open hallway, just by the entrance of the room, a crowd of mechs gathered around a very sleek, dark blue Corvette. As you drew closer, a man you recognized as Alan’s foreman was leaning over the hood. A giggle bubbled up as you noticed the reason behind this was for a little buffing and _scolding_.

“I _just_ touched this up and it’s already scratched,” Raoul hen-pecked.

The Corvette’s voice scoffed, “Well I’m _sorry_ , I’ll just tell the ‘Cons to watch the decal.”

“Could one of you guys teach Tracks to dodge?”

“I’m about to teach you to fly,” The mech snarked back.

You covered your mouth to muffle your amusement. It warmed your heart to see two species on opposite spectrums of physiology getting along. You must have lingered long enough, because some of the observers moved aside to give you a better view and to let Alan’s foreman know there was a new member to his audience.

“Oh, shit – uh, Doc, I was just helping –" Raoul panicked for a hot minute of him _not_ doing work, and then flipped the switch to lay on the charm. With a sweep of his hand, he drew your eyes to the flashy hood of this mech’s alt-mode, “Whadaya think? I painted it, myself.”

You had prided yourself on being open-minded enough to call these aliens _friends_ , but you felt a beat of shame. You reprimanded yourself on believing you were the only one. Your eyes ate up the artwork of flames splayed out like wings around the Autobot insignia, standing in stark relief against the midnight blue. It came to you that this amount of detail wasn’t accomplished overnight.

Tracks muttered something that only Raoul could hear, and he stepped away to give the bot enough room to transform. You witnessed the man didn’t even flinch as the Autobot’s massive feet stepped beside him, twisting in an attempt to see the paint job on the back of his legs.

“Ultra Magnus might say I’m in violation of the Regalia Act, but I happen to think its very flattering,” Tracks preened, canting his head down at the man who was apparently his friend, “Did you get all the scratches?”

“Don’t be a diva, man. You know I did.” Raoul continued to look to you, waiting to hear your reaction on his slacking off.

You rubbed your mouth to try and banish this goofy grin that threatened to shatter your tough exterior. Whereas most people would shy away from these titans and worry where they stepped, you saw this man not even blink an eye, bracing himself casually on the leg of the Autobot. Raoul _trusted_ Tracks, and it made you want to bounce in place and clap your hands like a fool.

You managed to appear serious, “I think this is a wonderful example of a cultural exchange on a more artistic nature. I feel we should always explore every facet to find the positive effects we could have on one another. I approve.”

Everyone was exchanging looks. Raoul suddenly blurted, “Oh yeah, artsy exchange, totally.”

“Yeah, totally not to show off on your little street races,” another bot tattled from the audience.

“Dude, shut up.”

You raised your brows, delight pulled at your lips. Raoul glanced at Tracks, who shrugged those big shoulders.

“I’m learning the way of your primitive fleshy races.”

“A, uh, exchange of entertainment practices.”

That nearly broke you as you coughed up a strangled laugh. Raoul had a knowing grin as he wriggled his brows, “C’mon Doc, no need to tell my boss. I’m facilitating good relations.”

“Carry on,” you waved, “Just hurry and finish _facilitating_. The clock is ticking and we don’t know when it’ll go off.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” He drawled out, and you heard the victorious sound of a hand patting metal when you turned away.

Anyone could say you were a little soft on the goldbricking crowd behind you, but who were you to get between a friendship that others seemed so hesitant to forge? That, though, was only a taste of the things you could accomplish, together. You always found your breath stolen every time you walked in the life-support room that housed Sunstreaker’s body.

This was the room chosen to be your new laboratory, where you would be working alongside these Cybertronians. One side of the space was designated as _your_ area, and that’s where Prowl had enough foresight to have a platform built so you were nearly chest-high with most of these titans. Essentially, a couple of tables were pushed to the far wall, and metal scaffolding stairs and catwalks were bolted and welded to it. Still, you were impressed with how it was all coming together.

Your new equipment was being placed carefully upon your roofless workspace, and it looked like the two rooms – the MRI and patient room – you insisted on having the privacy of a roof were finally finished. Everyone was buzzing around, people and bots alike, working together and _proving_ there was little difference to be had when everyone just worked _together_.

You finally found the will to move, taking in as much as you could of the goings-on around you. A few of Alan’s crew worked with Jetfire to link the computer systems to your new machines, making the data exchange seamless. Holly sat upon First Aid’s shoulder, strangely comfortable as they discussed something just out of your range of hearing. You watched as someone within your staff showed one of the more docile rats to one of the mechs, fawning how it wriggled its little nose. Off by the radio, one of Alan’s employees was teaching a bot the secret behind a successful _air-guitar._

Breakthroughs and discoveries couldn’t _touch_ this feeling in your heart. This pure and clean sensation that had nothing but love and adoration for this unity of minds and purpose. You were proud of these people. It was a wonderful sight, and you weren't sure how much more your heart could take before you would get a little teary.

“Careful with that!” Alan cried at a familiar yellow bot as he set a machine up on the loft floor, “That could be your great-great-grandpa you’re banging around!”

“Has anyone told you how _mean_ you are?”

“All the time, Bug-bot, now stop tryin’ to break my shit and treat your cousins with a little more care.”

Bumblebee glanced in your direction, and the scout let out a long and patient vent before turning away to lift another delicate machine. This entire project was a testament to how your species could work together, but Alan was evidence that these mechanical aliens had untold patience and willpower not to squash something so fragile.

Idly wondering when the last time Alan had updated his will, you continued to meander along the wall to the metal-grated steps that led up to the platform. You continued your scan over the area, noticing Bluestreak and Hoist bolting a strip of metal grated catwalk on the opposing side, bridging your budding laboratory to where the terminals hooked up to Sunstreaker’s _real_ body. That’s when you noticed Sideswipe standing out of the way as he carried on a casual conversation with his brother.

You made it to the top, curious to know what he thought of his psychological evaluation earlier, but not wanting to interrupt Sunstreaker’s time with one of the most important people in his life. There was also a part of you that wanted to keep that distance between you and him today, at least till you figured out how to turn off this silly little attraction. You went ahead to check on the progress of the MRI hookup.

Except you were noticed. Sideswipe called out, waving like that embarrassing friend flagging you at the bar, “Eva! Hey, over here! Come over here, come say hi.”

With a steeling breath, you retained your spectrum of _normal_ and approached. Sunstreaker offered a nod of salutations while the red gunner babbled, “Why don’t you come take a break with us, unless you’re avoiding us – but why would you? I mean –" he took a moment to clear the fuzz from his vocalizer with a cough and a click.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sunstreaker’s jaw drop, mortified. Sideswipe proceeded to adopt a suave and overly-relaxed posture as he leaned on the still-being-installed catwalk. “I mean, hey _sweetspark_. What’s a little thing like you doin’ in a place like this?”

You _felt_ your patient die a little inside. He sighed loudly and palmed his brow. The cringe was accompanied by the squeal of metal, and the catwalk bowed and bent under his weight, a few of the bolts pinging out. He retracted and looked sheepishly back at those who worked on it.

Bluestreak set his fists on his hips, a disapproving puff to those metal cheeks. Hoist just quietly shook his head, unbolting what didn’t fly out to replace the whole thing. You started to step back, “I should go.”

“What? No, nooo, stick around.” He waved his hands about before setting them on the railing – a bit more mindfully this time. “Join us. We were just talking.”

“About what?” You asked slowly.

“Not you,” He shot back quickly, then winced.

“ _Primus_ , Sides,” Sunstreaker groaned and rubbed his eyes, attempting to quantum-jump universes on his mental ability alone.

“I’m _sorry_ , I panicked.”

You held up your hands, trying your best not to feel self-conscious about being a topic of discussion. You kept a steady tone, “It’s alright if you talk about me, but did I do something wrong?”

“I dunno, did you?” the Autobot-turned-flesh finally looked at you with a playful smirk. With a casual wriggle of his fingers, he invited you to stand beside him.

You nearly slid up, eager to feel that warmth and contact. You checked yourself and locked your knees in place. His bright alien eyes traced you up and down a moment before turning to look out at the hustle and bustle below. “I just mentioned that I hardly saw you, today.” 

“Things are busy,” You said reflexively.

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker took you in again, and it was like he was looking right through you. There was a softness to his expression that just melted you, that made you want to trust him with every struggle you faced. He knew things were different since Bethany visited. You _knew_ that he noticed a change.

“Listen,” he snorted softly, “just don’t forget to take care of yourself. I’d hate for your little frame to shut down, again. You’re the only one who can get me back to where I need to be.”

You were being selfish. Despite your longings, you closed the distance and stood beside him, wrapping your arm around his. He was alone, and you were the only person he had. You were a _team_. As much as you were convincing yourself that you _weren't_ using this as an excuse to feel his arm snake about your shoulders; you let yourself relish in the scent of ozone and oil that clung to his shirt, and the bumps on your arm that raised and tingled where he traced his fingers.

You closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re always worried,” Sunstreaker rumbled, squeezing you close.

Why did you feel like you needed this warmth and assurance from _him_? You absorbed and used it like mortar to fix the cracks in your foundation. You felt stronger and recharged at his touch, and you peeked to look up at him. He was still smirking that sly little smile, taking you in from the corner of his eye. It was no secret he enjoyed this just as much. Who were you to deny him this kind of comfort in the most difficult time of his life?

“So not fair.”

You turned your head too see Sideswipe crossing his arms with a mock-pout, more than likely to guilt you. You felt air slightly move past your face as he vented. “What about me? What if I want a hug?”

You smirked, “Sunny, hug your brother.”

Your patient scoffed, “He can go hug a demolition pack.”

“Everyone says _she’s sooo nice_ , but you’re cruel,” the red mech teased, “If you keep giving him all the attention, I’m going to develop _more_ of a complex. I’m starting to think you like Sunny more than me.”

Sunstreaker rolled his eyes, responding with a classic _duh_. You wriggled yourself out of his hold to brace yourself on the railing. “You stop it. I’m not letting you hug me. End of discussion.”

“Was it because I squeezed you too tightly the first time?” He nearly whined, “That only happened _once_.”

“ _Once_ is all it takes to kill me, Sides,” You waved your arm over the project in developing, “Maybe another time when we’re not in the middle of working. I’m just taking a minute and I’m going right back to work.”

“Tonight then. Us three, a nice drive, maybe a little bit of your Earth music, some drinks, and a nice view...?” He tilted his head from side to side with a hopeful smile that just simply charmed you.

You felt your face color slightly as you glanced back at Sunstreaker, “This sounds like a date.”

He shrugged innocently as Sideswipe asked, “Date? What’s that? I have no idea what a _date_ is.”

The man sneered, “Sides, you know what a –"

“I don’t know a thing about human culture, _Sunstreaker_ ,” He grounded out, “I would really like it if she showed me, so _shut your big fat intake._ ”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Your patient scowled a moment before nodding, “He’s about as smart as a bucket of bolts, and couldn’t find his tailpipe with an updated navigational system.”

“I’m going to repaint your entire frame purple.”

“You touch my plates and I swear, as soon as I get back in my body –"

You clapped your hands together to break them up. Your apprehensive glare jumped between the two. “A night drive sounds lovely, _if_ we have time. But if I’m spending my night playing referee to you two, count me out.”

Sideswipe grinned as Sunstreaker squirmed under your studious gaze, “Uh, Sides, why don’t you tell her what happened last night?”

“Oh yeah!” Sideswipe leaned in like an eager gossip, “The _weirdest_ thing happened to me. I was parked close to a human-populated area, on patrol, and these two fleshies just opened my doors, got in, and started smashing their faces together.”

Your mouth opened, closed, opened again, and then the crook of your finger rested on your chin. Why did it feel like you had a budding teenager before you, and you were about to have _the talk_?

“I _said_ , that’s how those meatbags _kiss_. They’re just really sloppy and noisy about it,” Sunstreaker dramatically gagged.

“I know what you said, I was seeing if she would say the same thing.”

“Why would she say anything different?”

“Uh, because she’s been human longer than you,” Sideswipe said sardonically.

Sunstreaker snapped back, “I’m not wrong, and she’s gonna agree with me.”

“You don’t know!”

“I do.”

“Nuh-uh!”

They continued to bicker all over again, and you pinched the bridge of your nose with a deep sigh. Yep, _brothers_. They acted about the same way you and Alan would, except you’d suffer more at the mercy of headlocks and sweaty pits. Maybe tonight with these two wouldn’t be such a relaxing time.

“Guys, _guys!_ ” You broke them up with your sharp tone, alone. You motioned Sideswipe to continue. “And then what happened?”

He took a few beats to remember his place. “And then they tried starting me. They looked all over for those little metal things you use to start your vehicles –"

“Keys,” You said.

“Keys, they were looking for keys, and they couldn’t find anything. Then one of them started crawling down under my steering wheel and ripped off my panel –"

You gasped, “No way. They were trying to hotwire you?”

He looked at Sunstreaker with confusion, “Hotwire? What does that ‘Con have to do with this?”

“Human term, just go with it,” The Autobot in human skin said wearily, “I gave up trying to understand. It’s easier when you just nod.”

How many times did Sunstreaker just let you babble on without knowing what you were talking about? You huffed, “It means they were trying to steal you! You cross a few wires to try and start the car without keys so you can drive off with it. Alan knows how to do it.”

“Shocking,” Sunstreaker muttered.

“I guess that’s what they were doing, then.” Sideswipe shrugged, “I didn’t know, I just thought they were looking to smash their face in me, too. So I asked a question and scared the slag outta them. They ran off screaming.”

You were caught by surprise, nearly choking on your laughter. You sputtered at the thought of just a random night of crime interrupted by an alien car, and who would believe them? Who would they even go to? You wiped the tears from your eyes to see them both smiling at you, pleased as can be.

“Tell her what you asked,” The grin on the blonds’ face was just as charming as his brother’s.

“I asked if they knew any good movies,” Sideswipe was delighted at your reaction.

You were _wheezing_. You gasped and braced yourself on the railing, doubling over in laughter. You managed to get out, “Two people break into you...and you ask... _‘any good movies?’._ ”

“Hey, I was bored and wanted to pick up a good vid on my sensors, anything to pass the time. It was awkward for all of us, okay?” He crossed his arms with a little pout, “Besides, I didn’t know what they were doing. I just thought, _‘finally, something happened on this fraggin’ boring route’_.”

Sunstreaker clucked with disdain, “And you could have been cleaning yourself for stellar cycles, or worse, corroded in places you couldn’t reach. Did you at _least_ visit the decontamination chamber?”

“Really?” You deadpanned. You were starting to get a little offended.

“Really,” He shot back at you, then turned to his brother, “Don’t just let any random fleshlings crawl up in you. You don’t know where they been or what parasites they carry – Humans are disgusting! They leak, you know! All the time.”

“Do you?” Sideswipe looked at you with a curious tilt of his head.

“No!” You squealed, “Sunny, stop acting like I’m so gross. Not every human is the same. Stop categorizing everyone in one lump and spreading misinformation.”

He snapped back, “I didn’t say _you_ were disgusting.”

“I’m human!” You waved your hand over yourself to accentuate your point. His lip curled in offense as he looked you up and down. He crossed his arms and fixed his hip against the railing, casting his ire down at the people below. You sighed out a groan and slapped your hand over your face as Sideswipe leaned in, optics bouncing between the two of you in an amused kind of concern.

“You don’t need to remind me. I know you’re human,” Sunstreaker grounded out, “But I didn’t mean _you_. When will you fraggin’ get that I _never_ mean you.”

You clenched your teeth, fighting the flutters. Why couldn’t you stop feeling like this? It was obvious, once he was in his metal body, you wouldn’t have these urges to blush and smile, to angle your head and lace your fingers in his. Sunstreaker was your _friend_ and you were already in love with a man who slept for years.

“So if all fleshlings are different,” Sideswipe bent over to rest his chin on the railing like a naïve little kid, “and _you’re_ different, does that mean not every human eats each other’s faces like that?”

You silently thanked the mech for steering the conversation away. You shrugged with a non-committal nod, “We’re a very diverse race, down to how we display affection, and again, it’s called _kissing_.”

His smirk made you wary. It reminded you of Jazz. “How do _you_ do it?”

You felt the cogs in your brain lock up. You cocked your head as your brows knitted, replaying what he just asked, and when you finally filed in that question for processing, you were struggling with how to answer. You heard Sunstreaker make a few sputtering noises, and when you turned, he was trying to look everywhere else _but_ you.

“If you want,” the mech said with a grin that stripped the innocence from all this, “I can show you how Cybertronians kiss.”

You had a vague idea that they could kiss, much like any other human. You never witnessed this display of affection, and there were a few times where you wished you could see a couple behave naturally. Either Cybertronians were against public displays of affection, or those bonded as _conjunx endura_ were never sent to your part of Earth. Not a single one you befriended offered to kiss you, and because you couldn’t separate the science experiment from the _seven-minutes-in-heaven_ experiment, you shied back, looking between the brothers.

They exchanged glances. Sunstreaker’s brows quirked with an impressed tilt to his head, while Sideswipe flashed a victorious flicker of an optic – _a wink_. Was this a prank? Jazz would flirt to get a rise out of you because it was just one big game to him. Was that what this was? _One big joke?_

You planted your fists on your hips, “Are you trying to be funny?”

The very tone of your voice changed the mood instantly. Sunstreaker took one _wide_ step away from his brother, muttering, “Real smooth, glitch.”

Sideswipe, now feeling abandoned, grumbled back, “Eat slag, coward.” He lost all of his confidence as he addressed you with a nervous smile, “I’m not, I promise I’m not. I’m just curious to know what it feels like, I swear.”

“From me,” You said dryly, “A gross little organic.”

He appropriated blame, “He said that, not me.”

“You’re a fraggin’ backstabbing, bearing-less, spawn-of-a-glitch!”

“Spawn? We’re twins,” Sideswipe shot back, but kept his pleading optics on you, “If you’re not cool with it, I’ll back off. I just don’t want you to think I’m playing with you. But if you’re into it, then I’m into it.”

You took a moment to rub your face, sharing the conundrum you struggled with, “But _why?_ This does not benefit you _one bit_. It’s not lucky, you might not even _feel it_ , and it just doesn’t make sense.”

The red gunner risked a ginger touch to your side, lowering his vocals till you almost felt it in your chest, “Maybe I’m looking for ways to make you smile. That means you’re happy, right?”

Oh. _Ohh_. You _hated_ it when you were caught off-guard like that, and that sly smirk to that handsome face told you that he _knew_ he said the right thing. You grew a thicker skin against it, courtesies of Jazz, but without that smooth-talker to keep you on your toes, your shield weakened.

Henri never talked to you like this, and you hated the moments where you wish he did. The thought of him made you glance at Sunstreaker, who stood off to the side as a silent observer with his fist over his mouth.

You nodded dumbly, then managed to shake off the haze and pointed an accusing finger at Sideswipe. “I’ll think about it, and we’ll see tonight, but wipe that smug grin off your face or I’ll pop your tires.”

“Oohh ho ho,” He held up his hands in mock surrender, “As you command, my tiny femme.”

“ _My_ tiny femme?”

That voice had the same effect of when Alan would drop an ice cube down the back of your shirt. You jolted, turning to where Bethany came walking your way after ascending the steps.

Her laughter was light, “Well if that’s not a lover’s pet name. What do you have goin’ on with these aliens?”

You stood ramrod straight as she sidled up beside you, throwing a cautious glance Sunstreaker’s way. Her hand traveled up your back, and your skin crawled. It wasn’t the usual aversion to the warmth of flesh. This was completely different. She came back and acted like nothing had changed between you, that she never left you with years stacked with sleepless nights and puffy eyes. She had no right to play with your hair like she used to.

You shirked away as politely as you could. “It’s all innocent fun. It doesn’t mean anything serious like _that_.”

“Obviously not,” She casually put an arm around your neck to wave at Sideswipe’s midsection, “since they seem to be lacking the, _ahh_ , proper tools.”

The red gunner crossed his arms, frowning, “That’s a _big_ assumption you’re making.”

Bethany ignored him and quirked a brow at Sunstreaker, “And how are you not going crazy trying new things? I mean, you got _something_ new to play with. Can only imagine how _that_ feels.”

_What the fuck is happening right now?_ Your head whipped over to glare at Bethany before taking in your patient's uncomfortable reaction. He searched elsewhere on the floor, not even gracing her with a response. He couldn’t hide his reddening face, though, and you ripped yourself from her to speak on his behalf. “I get that you’re just teasing, but that’s enough. Don’t talk to my patient like that.”

“Did I hit a nerve?” She goaded, and the accusation in those ocean eyes had you shaking.

Bethany didn’t know what you were struggling with. She didn’t see him hug you, didn’t see how he cupped your face in those hands, didn’t see how you often gazed in those alien blue eyes. She didn’t see what you were so ashamed of. She didn’t see how attracted you were to him.

“Sunny’s not interested,” You said, and you convince yourself you weren't repeating that for your benefit.

The corner of her mouth quirked up, “And you’re so sure?”

You tried to keep calm. You tried to keep the images of _finding out_ from your mind’s eye. You were assaulted with the thought of giving in to your animalistic urges, of feeling his mouth breathe life into you. _You monster_. You would be taking advantage of someone scared and vulnerable and _alone_. Not even mentioning breaking your commitment to the man you loved.

You watched her eyes trace the red on your cheeks, having that cat-like smirk on that perfectly contoured face. She leaned in just a bit, “Or are you waiting for the right moment?”

You barked out a nervous laugh, “This isn’t college. That’s a clear violation of the doctor-patient relationship, and he’s in my fiancé’s body. This is real life, not one of those smutty novellas.”

Sideswipe moved to hover over Sunstreaker as he leaned against the railing, hunched over and holding both his stomach and head. You were desperate for Bethany to stop looking at you like this, like she could see your sins. You pointed at him, “And he gets physically ill with a lot of organic, uh, _things_. Can we _please_ change the subject?”

“Please,” he whined.

Bethany rolled her eyes, “Sex is not shameful, or gross. It’s completely normal, and when the hell has it become such a touchy subject for you?”

“It’s not,” You shot back.

“Really,” she snorted, “because your face is about as red as that alien there. Either you’re shy or _guilty_.”

_She doesn’t know_ , you chanted to yourself. You bought a moment by watching Sideswipe’s gentle hands fuss around his brother as he took deep breaths, struggling to keep his food in his stomach. You addressed the problem with an edge, “Things are different now. We work with Cybertronians that have little to no understanding of human reproduction. It is an inappropriate topic, and I’m not about to subject an unwilling audience –"

“I’m not unwilling –" Sideswipe added, only for you to cut him off by raising your voice.

“ _Subject an unwilling audience_ to something they don’t want to hear.” You let your anger paint your face, “I’ll make this simple for you. Hold a decent conversation that I approve of, or _get out_.”

“Fine, fine, sorry,” Bethany huffed and rounded to stand behind you. You physically cringed as she started rubbing your shoulders and pressed her cheek against yours, “You’d be a poor teacher, anyways.”

There was that little jab she always did. You were well acquainted with it, either seeing it used or being on the receiving end. Bethany always accused you of being too serious or uptight when she was ‘ _just playing_ ’. You missed the best parts of her, but it was clear when she came back into your life, she didn’t bring those with her.

You turned your head just enough to see her in your peripheral. Your lip quivered as the words barely made it out, “Stop... _fucking..._ touching me.”

Bethany recoiled, still holding your shoulders as she looked at your face. She looked shocked, _hurt_ even. Her beautiful eyes bounced between yours, searching for something you couldn’t name, but the moment she found it, her face relaxed to bitter spite.

“I see how this is,” She said with a curl to her lip, and shoved you. _Hard_.

You weren't expecting such a childish reaction, but at the same time, you felt stupid for not seeing it coming. You stumbled forward, and your hands caught onto the railing before your teeth did. The metal grating chewed and ripped the knees of your jeans, cutting into your skin. You’ve never been much of a violent person, but you couldn’t help the Emotional side encouraging you to _tackle the bitch_.

You felt an arm link under yours and found that Sunstreaker was already at your side. You fixed your feet under yourself and stood with his help, despite the sharp pain in your kneecaps. He leaned in close, hand at your waist, on your neck, on your arms, asking softly, “Are you alright? Did you suffer any damage?”

Sideswipe cast a _dark_ shadow over you, words also quiet and bone-chilling, “Want me to remove this _problem_?”

“You know, I bought your little sanctimonious act,” Bethany started laughing cynically. She posed with her hip jutted out, hand fixed on it, and she gave you a critical glare from down her nose. “You shame me for being confident with myself, but look at you. You’re actually _fucking_ him and you don’t want a single person knowing, and you have the gall to treat me like trash?”

Her voice was thunder in the room, and you felt your heart stop. You weren't having those kinds of relations with him. You _weren't_ but that didn’t mean you never thought of it. You pleaded for Sunstreaker to remain ignorant of what that meant. Your voice cracked, “Get out. Get out, _now_.”

Bethany peered through you, and you felt so exposed. You felt your horrible feelings that you had no control over was a great, big, neon sign for all to read. It wasn’t your fault you _liked_ Sunstreaker. It wasn’t your fault that you liked it when he made you laugh with those wonderful stories and that arrogant grin. It wasn’t your fault that you liked feeling his arms around you, or when he would lower his voice at just the _right_ bass-tone. It wasn’t your fault that he reminded you that your heart still worked.

You weren’t a bad person. You didn’t do anything wrong. _You weren't a bad person_.

“Is this why you’ve taken so long to bring Henri back?” She sneered, then turned her attention on Sunstreaker, “I can see why. You look just like him, except you’ll never hold her accountable for letting Henri leave that night.” Her hands fluttered about dramatically as she drew closer, step by step by _step_. “You’re new and exciting and got this angry-boy thing about you. Give it time, you’ll get bored of ol’ missionary-mary, unless she finally learned to do that thing with her tongue.”

You heard Sunstreaker grunt like her words physically hurt him. He winced and recoiled from you, bracing himself against the railing again.

“Or maybe she’s actually practicing for when her fiancé comes back? You know, the guy that you _look like_ ,” Bethany scoffed, looking down at you like a schoolyard bully, “Did you finally grow out of being a prude and –"

She didn’t get to finish.

You never thought you could move so fast. You didn’t even feel yourself take those steps, or if you just leaped like a _fucking gazelle_. All you knew was that your hand throbbed sharply, and Bethany held her mouth from her seat on the ground. She looked up at you, pure shock and awe that you got _physical_. You were always diplomatic, but this time? Words weren't coming easily. Logic had no place here.

“What the hell happened to you?” She gasped, pulling her hand away to see the blood pouring from her mouth. You nearly punched her teeth right through her bottom lip.

You weren't sure how to answer that. You were still shifting from lizard-brain caveman aggression to the functional, rational, business you. That Emotional side of you wrestled with the calm Scientist within for control.

“Eva! Something’s wrong!”

That was Sideswipe’s voice. His panicked, pitched vocals. You possessed enough sense to turn, seeing Sunstreaker doubled over, clenching his hands over his temples. The Scientist in you came to the frontlines _real fast_.

You flew over, falling to your knees and ignoring the jagged pain in favor of trying to see your patient’s face. You asked frantically, “What is it, what hurts?”

He tried to open his eyes, tears rivering down his cheeks. As soon as you steadied him by his arms, he fell against you, making you bear all of his weight. You eased him down, shrieking out into the open area, “I need assistance! _NOW!_ ”

Sideswipe was fretting over you, babbling incoherently his every fear and plea. You held Sunstreaker close as he buried his face in your shirt, huffing and groaning through gritted teeth. You checked his pulse and felt the Scientist in you panic. His heart was thundering hard. You knew these signs. This was the ticking time-bomb you were anticipating.

“Is it like before? Are you seeing more of Henri’s memories?”

Bethany screeched, “What? Is he seeing what!?”

You may have neglected to tell her that bit of detail, but it was for your patient’s best interests – _not_ because you were spiteful. You were better than that.

Sunstreaker’s mouth hung open and he tried to cover his eyes, “It... _hah_... its so...my processor is _pounding_. My...my optics...”

Migraine. Light sensitivity. You wrapped your arm around him to shield the light. You pushed as much of your nurturing nature into him. “It’ll be alright. We’ll get through this.”

“I want to go home,” his body wracked with a sob, “I don’t want this. It hurts so much. I feel like my brain-module is going to bust out of my helm!”

“I know,” You cooed, trying so very hard to soothe him, “I know and we’ll get you home. I promise. You’re going to get through this. You’re strong, Sunny. Just hang on.”

Sideswipe made a choking noise above you, venting hard as his face was hovering inches above you. You felt the air blow the loose strands of your hair, and you heard him try his best to keep his vocals soft, “You’ll be okay, bro. She’s gonna take care of you. Right? You’re gonna help him?”

You leaned in close, leaving the frightened mech unanswered. You said, “Focus on something different from the pain. Are you able to tell me what you’re seeing?”

Sunstreaker curled up more, and one of his hands searched for yours. You anchored him down, holding onto him as tightly as he held onto you. Your team finally made it to the loft as your patient grunted out, “The...the things... _private_ things... you didn’t want me to see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bunker rattled around them as Decepticon heavy fire pelted the thick walls.   
> Jazz shielded his face as pebbles and dust rained down on his plating. He let out a long, grumbling vent. Sooner or later - preferable sooner - that damn tank will run out of ammo. It was just a waiting game now, for him and his team.   
> He sat alone in an alcove away from the others and opened his private communications array installed on his arm. The holographic image of your smiling face blipped up, and he played the message:  
> "Just look into this and talk?" You looked off-camera.  
> "It's on now," Prowls voice cut in, "You're wasting time."  
> "Oh!" You started babbling, "Ah, uh, Ah Jazz! I hope you're okay and I can't wait to see you again. Things have been a little crazy here and Prowl has been taking care of us, but he's not *you*."  
> He heard Prowl snort disapprovingly, and you flinched with an apologetic smile.   
> You stammered a moment, eyes flicking off and on the camera. You had that coy expression he adored when he said the right things to get your face to change color. Your eyes glistened with sincere tears. "I miss you, Jazzy. I keep you in my thoughts, and I want nothing more than my friend to be safe. Be safe."  
> The video cut off, and Jazz murmured, "I am, Baby Girl."  
> "You've rewatched that vid nearly a hundred times."  
> Jazz glanced over at Red Alert and motioned him over to join. He hailed your image again for him to see. "She's an organic on Earth. She's one of the good ones in this slaggin' universe."  
> Red Alert sat down beside him, looking your picture over. "Tell me more about her."  
> "For one, she's a good luck charm..."


	21. The Masks People Wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone's motivations align. You do your best to keep to task and are faced with the results of your tests, as well as feelings you'd been fighting.  
> Sunstreaker, on the other hand, deals with the more uncomfortable aspects of an organic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just get this out of the way incase anyone is concerned. There will be NO Twincest in this fic.  
> This chapter WILL ALLUDE TO POLYAMORY AND SHARING - just as a warning to those who need it. 
> 
> Another chunky chapter. I'm not sorry. You eat these 12,000+ words and like it. No dessert until you finished.  
> OMG I'm sorry I'm' being crabby - I wrote about Chinese food and there's nothing I want more right now. Now I'm all cooped up, all I want is to EAT ALL THE THINGS.  
> Instead, I research the human brain just to have a smidge of content that sounds semi-accurate.

Rumbles in the distance announced the incoming storm.

It did nothing to move you as you sat outside on this freezing night, the metal on your bumper had long transferred the cold through your jeans. You reclined back along the hood of your car, staring up at the stars. They were blotted out by the creeping overcast, one by one.

Somewhere, far beyond those stars, was a place these mechanical friends of yours called home. A home they couldn’t return to. A home Sunstreaker begged to see as he was overcome with pain, sobbing in your arms. You didn’t have the heart to remind him what others have told you: no one can return to Cybertron.

You didn’t care one bit that he saw those private, _intimate_ memories of you and Henri. That was flung far in the back of your mind as your friend writhed and howled in pain, clinging to you so hard it left bruises on your arms. He was desperate for you to help him, and you couldn’t. You held him in your lap, trying to soothe him, talk him through it all. That’s the only thing you could do. _Talk_.

You refused to leave him, not that you could. You were forced to rely on others, barking orders to your staff while you had alien mechs towering over you, watching. _Petrified_. One of their own was reduced to a finite mass of organic matter, mewling with a weakness they’ve never experienced, and the sounds of raw, visceral screams came from foreign vocals, but that was their comrade. _That could have been them_.

Your choices were limited, and you opted to numb his suffering. When he was fully sedated, you pried his fingers from your clothes, helped lift him on a stretcher and dove straight into Scientist mode. This episode was much worse than the first, and you were _not_ going to risk another one of these. As equipment and machinery were being set and synced up, you ordered them to be used immediately, even going as far as transferring your chemically-comatose patient to the MRI bed and running him through.

Cybertronian and Human alike, everyone moved as a single organism with one goal, not wasting a single second. In those hours, casual conversations died. Those moments of forging unlikely friendships and understandings had come to an end. Late in the night, it all finally came together. You had your fully working laboratory back.

Now, came the hard part: letting the computers render the data. Your team started to slow as they processed and sorted their findings and eventually began dropping like flies. The faults of being human with a circadian rhythm. You didn’t know what time it was. Your body begged for sleep, and your lids raked over your eyes like steel wool. You had to put everything down when words became difficult to make out, and those pesky letters started switching around on you.

Lightning flashed from over the canopy of the surrounding forest, followed by a sharp clap of thunder. Many of the people on site pulled their vehicles in the facility and slept within for some semblance of warmth. You couldn’t gauge how long ago you came out here with the same intent, or how long you lay on your hood just staring at the stars, just _thinking_.

You weren’t thinking of your next move, as much as the Scientist stood ready at the chalkboard of your mind. You weren’t anticipating what results would greet you the morning, and how you would field each one. You were coming to terms with that singular moment, that horrible moment, where you were gripped with fear of _losing_ Sunstreaker.

You cared for him more than you should, and it ate at you. You felt so terrible that you never once worried about losing _both_ Henri and Sunstreaker. Sometimes, tense moments reveal the inner workings of others, and you were finding out your silly attraction may have went deeper than you originally thought. You felt so foolish and conflicted and _betrayed_ – why was your heart yearning for anyone other than the man you were going to marry? Why was this happening?

Thunder rolled in again, and it took a few thumps of footfalls for you to note you were not alone, anymore. Beside you and your car, a shadowed outline of a mech stood quietly, joining you to watch the incoming storm-front. A flash of lightning revealed that Autobot to be Prowl.

Several beats passed where nothing was said, and it was strangely comfortable. You welcomed that lack of emotion, and allowed the cold weather to seep into your bones. The wet, frigid, air made your hand throb, reminding you of that moment you lost control over yourself. _Or was that you trying to hide your shame?_ Who knows what other people whispered about. Despite wanting to smite the appearance that your patient meant a little more to you than he should, you couldn’t shake this urge to return to his sleeping form, pull up a chair, and rest your head on the side of Sunstreaker’s bed.

“I just finished sending my report to the AOS,” Prowl spoke up, “I’ve also sent an urgent burst to the approaching medical team to speed it up. Their transport will complain, per usual, but we’ll have a repair team on deck to see to his injuries. Not that it would shut him up.”

You should have been excited. You should have asked _at least_ five questions. You were too drained, barely nodding with a croaky _mmm-hmm_.

There was a long pause, and you heard him shift from side to side. He added with this unneeded amount of severity, “In my reports, I’ve highlighted how you’ve been a valuable ally.”

You saw the icy blues of his optics flick from you to the surrounding area. “I...do not _unsettle_ easily. That...with Sunstreaker was... _harrowing_.”

If _Prowl_ was disturbed, you could only imagine what kind of nightmares the rest of the Autobots were having.

“You took point when we all froze. I had the ability to observe you in your element, and you did not disappoint me. I was right to draft you under my command.”

You weren't really under his _command_ , but you didn’t have the energy to argue the point or search beyond the veil at the compliment. You didn’t respond, letting the cold air hang between you for several minutes.

“You are gentle with him, Doctor Morgan.”

You jerked, staring wide-eyed at the mech whose vocals lowered a few octaves and took on a softness that was so unlike him, you were questioning whether the darkness played tricks on you – because this _was_ Prowl standing and speaking with you, _right?_

He kept his bright optics ahead as he said, “To see a species so different from us, care so much beyond duty, is not a common occurrence to the Cybertronian race. We do not _make_ _friends_ easily with organics.”

The only reason you became so close with many of them was because of Jazz. You huffed and felt your breath warm the tip of your nose as you said, “Under it all, we’re not so different.”

“We are,” He said, and there was this sad undertone to it. Rain started to pelt his plating, and he turned his face skyward. “You haven’t seen what our war has done to other worlds.”

You pushed yourself to sit as the rain nipped at your face. You managed to say before the full torrent of rain came down like a waterfall, “I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”

The shock of this freezing rain pouring over you made it hard to breathe. You wanted to stand and retreat to your car, but the frigid gust of air sapped all strength from you, and you were caught between welcoming this numbness to regretting it. Then, the sharp pricks of hail pecked at you. You were lamenting your choices.

The space around you suddenly stilled. The hail and rain stopped, and the sounds of it all _tinging_ against the alien sheet of metal and glass was louder than the storm. Prowl held his datapad over you like an awning.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He said tightly over the rain, barely audible. He turned his head away, and you caught the quiet alien warbles of his native language as he muttered into his comm..

Yes, _you_ were the silly one. That emotionally constipated alien. _Pot, meet kettle_ , you shivered uncontrollably. You hugged your jacket around you tighter and stood up on legs so cold, they didn’t feel like they belonged to you. You took a few steps towards the door of your car when Prowl shifted to kneel, offering his free hand to you while continuing to shelter you with the other.

You looked between his wordless offer, and your door handle. You could just get in your car, turn on the warm air, and probably suffer through another fitful night with your thoughts as company. Or you could endure whatever the Autobot Commander had planned, aptly distract yourself, and possibly pass out in the most unflattering of ways.

You chose to plop your backside right in his palm and hug onto those large metal fingers that secured around you. Prowl stood, and like protecting a lit match, he held you close to his chestplate while still shielding you from the elements. He walked back inside the dimly lit facility, and your vision could only pick up on so much. The activity was minimal, and you could make out a few mechs by their biolights and optics, but you were still nervous traversing the area in the dark.

Prowl set you down without warning, and you asked, “Did you need me to do something?”

“Yes,” He said, taking a few steps back to see you from over his chest-piece, “Your body temperature has fallen a few degrees. You are tasked to see to your frail self. You are useless to me if you are incapacitated.”

You peered, unable to decipher if that was disguised concern or if he literally just told you _‘if you break, I can't use you’_. You weren't given long to choose as the heavy thudding of rapid footsteps from one of these titans had you skirting against Prowl’s foot.

Sideswipe rounded the corner in a hurry, holding a white, limp shape in his hands. He said quickly, “I got the thing.”

Prowl indicated with a nod to you at his feet, and it took a moment for your eyes to adjust. The gunner had one of the hospital blankets that were supplied for your patient. You jolted when Sideswipe’s bright optics magnetized to you, and across his face grew a mischievous grin. He spread his stance and held open the blanket like he was about to wrangle a skittish cat.

His intentions were an open book, and you held up the shivering index finger of warding, ordering firmly, “No. _No_.”

Prowl did his own curt hand gesture, and Sideswipe wilted with a little pout. The officer stepped away again, just enough to lean down a smidge. “I have to compile data-packets for the incoming team. Next time I see you, I expect a healthier appearance and not be inconvenienced by your fragility.”

_Healthier appearance?_ Did you look like you were at death’s doorstep? Wait – _how the hell was HE inconvenienced?!_

He directed himself at Sideswipe, “This is your only order for tonight: make sure she conducts proper maintenance on herself. Ensure our friend is in optimal working order.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That goes for you, too.”

“...Yes, sir.”

With one last glance your way, he left you alone with the front-liner. You were stuck in time, watching Prowl’s biolights grow further away as he moved on. Did he call you _friend_? _Don’t be ridiculous,_ a voice mocked his as it replayed in your head. For such a hard-ass, it was very sweet of him to check on you while you sat outside, and used his prized datapad to give you cover. _Yeah, we’re friends_ , you thought smugly, though it was a very odd thing to be proud over. 

You were jostled back to the present as this red mech squatted down to your level and draped the blanket around you. “Your extremities are below the average temperature. Is that normal?”

The concern in his vocals was touching, and you pulled the blanket around your soaked body. Your teeth chattered in uneven patterns. “I spent too much time outside.” 

“Okay, not normal,” He said, looking off as he spoke, “If I remember right, humans can't do alotta hot, or alotta cold.”

You snorted. _Alotta_ wasn’t quite an accurate measurement. Then, you sneezed and felt the beginnings of congestion. Yeah, being outside was a stupid move. You’ll definitely hear it from Holly, and worse, you’ll hear how much you disgust Sunstreaker. _If he wasn’t already vomiting at the thought of you._

Sideswipe nearly yelped, hands up defensively like you were seconds away from detonating, “What was that? Are you backfiring? Was _that_ normal? _Primus punch me in the face_ , I have _one_ job and it’s already going to slag – are you _dying_?”

“No, no, calm down,” You used the blanket to wipe your face, “I’m fine. I just need to find someplace warm. Let me think for a minute.”

You did a full turn to survey the area. You could go bother any of those within their vehicles parked off to the side, but it didn’t seem like anyone was awake. You would have to turn on their car and fill the facility with carbon emissions – and that just seemed rude – as well as waking another. Outside, your car still sat under the roaring sheets of rain. You could brave the weather once again and sit in your car, or maybe you could ask Sideswipe to _gently_ drag it closer.

As you were staring out the open hangar doors, you felt the pleasant temperature before you felt his hands slowly come together around you, giving you just enough room to turn and look up at those bright optics. They illuminated a silky smile. “I’m warm.”

You didn’t take long to weigh your options as you were instantly seduced by how the blanket retained the heat he radiated. You leaned into his palm and nodded, and that was the indication he needed to cup his hands around you and collect you against his chestplate. He stood and followed your instructions on which parts of you required the most support. Turns out, Sideswipe was a good listener once you had his full attention.

Your eyelids lulled with the rocking motions of his steps. The security of the all-encompassing metal soothed you into relaxing and letting down your guard. Nothing could hurt you here. Nothing could _reach_ you. Your thoughts were pushed away as your mind filled with picking out the internal noises coming from your handler. For this moment in time, you were untouchable, and you felt yourself slipping into sleep. Where ever Sideswipe was taking you, you’ll deal with that later.

_Wherever he was taking you._ You jolted awake with a snort, twisting to squint in the darkness. This was an unfamiliar area that was much darker than the rest of the facility. You asked with the beginnings of a scratchy throat, “Where are we going?”

“The recharge chamber,” You caught hints of an inquiring smile from the dim light of his optics, “You...you need to recharge, right? You should. Sunny told me you couldn’t, last night.”

_Bless his spark_. You sighed and patted his chestplate, “I don’t _recharge_ on slabs of metal. I _sleep_ in fluffy beds.”

“And my berth wouldn’t be soft enough...?”

You shook your head woefully before grasping _exactly_ where he was taking you, “Wait. Your _berth?_ You’re taking me to your _bed_?”

“You’re complaining?” His head tilted with a haughty smirk and muttered, “Never had anyone complain about _that_ before.” He gave you a playful little wriggle you did _not_ appreciate. “You need to warm up, and I’m warm. You need to recharge, and what do ya know, so do I. Where else can we do this? I can’t think of anywhere better.”

He finally entered the room of his destination. You recognized what one of their recharge slabs looked like, thanks to Jetfire’s lessons of what a Cybertronian lifestyle entailed, but you haven’t been in this room. This looked like military barracks. It was a long stretch of these berths, and while some were a stand-alone slab for the larger framed, many of them were stacked upon one another like bunk-beds.

“Sideswipe,” You sighed. You appreciated the gesture, but you would rather sleep on something _much_ softer than a metal plate. You’ve experienced the menagerie of places you could fall asleep, and discovered the aches and pains that followed. Finding out what your body could endure was an adventure you not willing to embark. You drummed on his plates your rhythm of protest, “I’m going to wake up so sore and uncomfortable – that is, if I even manage to fall asleep.”

He continued all the way down the line, passing a few recharging bots to pick a berth in the far back. He chuckled, “Don’t worry, sweetspark. I’ll behave.”

_My God, he was laying it on thick_. You peered in the darkness at his cocky smirk, and there was something off about it. Something strange about how he was _insisting_ you stay with him. It couldn’t have been just on Prowl’s orders alone. You said, “Sides, take me to my car. You can tell Prowl you did a good job.”

He expressed brief hesitation before purring, “I can be your car.”

Yeah. He was trying to distract you. Decisively, you said, “Stop it.”

Sideswipe sat on the edge of the berth with jarring results, pulling you away to look at you with wide, innocent optics, “Stop what?”

“Acting,” You called him out.

He let out a heavy vent, hunching over and shielding you from any prying optics. It was a switch from his playfully flirtatious self to this uncertain side. “I...if you really want me to take you back, I can. It’s just...I don’t know how to say this.”

You gave him your full attention, pulling out that leadership side of you, “Just say what’s on your mind. We’ll sort it out, together.”

You watched his face twist as he struggled. Whatever it was, it took him at least a minute to form clear sentences. “You know when I tell everyone I’m fine, they believe me.”

Your heart sank to new depths. You knew _exactly_ where this was going.

“I’m a tough mech, and everyone always says so when they ask me if I’m okay. For so long, I’ve never shown any fear. I’m a warrior. Fear is a weakness.” His entire frame shuddered, and he vented out a shaky sigh, “After what I saw...how Sunny screamed, and I couldn’t feel a _thing_ over the bond...I don’t know how to tell others I’m _not_ okay. I’m _terrified_.”

You balanced on your knees, ignoring the scrapes that ached sharply, and reached up as much as you could. In response, the red mech brought you up a little closer to feel your hands rest on the sides of his chin. His optics dimmed to a low light. “How do I say that I don’t want to be alone, right now?”

“Just like that,” You said, extending your reach a little farther to stroke his cheek, “Say the word, and I’ll stay right where I am.”

You couldn’t recognize the look on his face. He gazed down at you with the most shocked of smiles. Bare and genuine and admiring with optics that nearly glittered. He rushed to dip his head down, nearly giving you a few more bruises as he squished you against his cheek. You hissed in protest, and he responded with a static-filled apology as he calmed. The space between you stilled.

Sideswipe was not a towering, metal-made, space-faring species. He was just like any other person. He was your _friend,_ and he was scared. You leaned in and pressed your forehead in the space between his optics, bracing your hand on the edge of his helm while tracing soothing lines across his cheek with the other. You heard something within his frame hitch and pause for several beats before resuming. His optics offlined as he turned his head side to side, just enough to rub against yours. 

You understood him so much that it hurt. To put on a front, to pretend everything was normal when things weren't. To show anything else was baring your wounds to a den of wolves, even when they were your friends.

Sideswipe’s vocals hummed against you, “Stay here with me.”

“I will,” You didn’t hesitate. You wouldn’t leave him, not like this. He must have felt so alone in his struggle to cope with this. Sideswipe witnessed his brother in distress, and had to rely on _you_ to help. How awful it must have been, to hear that screaming through human vocal cords, to know a loved one was in pain, and to stand by with the inability to do _nothing_ about it.

“Thank you.” Those metal fingers of his gently kneaded around you, and you bit down on a sigh. _Oh, how your body was so sore and tense!_ You felt something within his frame rumble, or was that thunder that vibrated against your skin? Sideswipe said in a low, _agonizing_ , tone, “By the stars, you _are_ soft.”

You were used to being handled. You were _not_ used to those low vibrations of his vocals that traveled through your belly and hips. You unapologetically pushed against him just enough to indicate you needed space. Against your will, you were starting to feel _too_ warm. You cleared your throat, “Why don’t you go ahead and lie down so I can find someplace to settle for the night.”

“I have an idea,” He pulled away, and his optics brightened back up. The smile on his face transformed him to an eager boy, but there was something wily about it. “Do you trust me?”

Leftfield question that deserved _way_ more thought than you gave it. You nodded hesitantly, not because you _didn’t_ trust him, but because good intentions often bore bruises.

He set you down by the headboard-computer system of the recharge slab, and maneuvered himself on the berth to lay on his front. His hand coaxed your forward, then nudged you to the side, then back, and then towards him again. While he was muttering a few inaudible things to himself and checked where he laid, is when you decided to speak up.

“Should I be worried?”

Sideswipe continued to adjust his placement, and moved you again. “Only if you don’t stay in,” He nudged you back a squeak, “ _that_ spot, right there.”

You swallowed down every voice that told you ‘ _that spot, right there’_ equals death. You would trust him. You would trust this massive, metal alien that could rip off his limbs and just reattach new ones, and that’s lived millions of years but had the same amount of giddiness as a child in a sundae shop.

You would trust him, because apparently he _trusted you_.

“Don’t move,” He said one final time, and leaned down enough till his face filled your vision, “and don’t blink.”

You heard those unmistakable noises that made you hold your breath. In the dimness of this space, lit only by the glow of the recharge slab and the biolights of Sideswipe, you _literally_ saw him transform in a new light. You couldn’t much see the plating sliding and locking into place, but you were forced to focus on the internal lights that peeked between the cables and cogs. Sparkling tubes carrying energon appeared and disappeared. Within that glorious frame was a glittering galaxy, and you only got a preview.

You had to resist reaching out to touch, as it was all _right there_.

Sideswipe folded and shifted into that hot model of a red Lamborghini, and the bumper just barely touched your legs. You finally exhaled, reaching forward to brush the hood with your fingertips. “That was _beautiful,”_ You said, breathlessly.

The engine revved a prideful purr, and his passenger door opened invitingly. “Would you like to come inside?”

You snapped from your haze, nodding dumbly as you shuffled around the car and settled in. The vents were already blowing warm air over your damp clothes, and his seat reclined back without your request. You bundled the blanket under your head and finally felt yourself relax in the seat.

White noise was all around you. You heard the rain pour over the roof, the soft hum of the recharge slab, and the gentle fans within Sideswipe’s alt-mode. You couldn’t help but close your eyes, feeling the vestiges of sleep begin to creep in.

With what little strength you had left, you managed, “I’m about to fall asleep.”

“Good,” Sideswipe’s voice was quiet.

“If you’re having trouble, you can wake me.” You curled up on your side.

“I think I’ll be okay,” His voice sounded distant as you drifted off, “I’m listening to the soft beating within your frame. I think I’ll be okay.”

|U.U|

It’s been a few hours since Sunstreaker woke from that chemically induced haze, and his brain-module felt like the gloop that flowed like rivers on Simanzi. Your staff buzzed in and out of his room like busy little insecticons, asking their questions and taking their tests. 

Sunstreaker had plenty of time to process what he saw. Flashes of warm, wriggling data. Blurred images that sharpened on certain details. Details of _you_. Feelings and sensations haunted him, giving just a molecular taste of what you were capable of. It all made him angry. Firstly, because he knew you would get all distressed and noisy, but these were not _his_ memories or experiences. If he wanted, he could make his own – only if _you_ were curious.

You would be so lucky to land a mech like him. Even in this limited form, he was sure with his millions of years of accumulated skills and experiences, he could shake you to the core – but he wasn’t that kind of bot to get between conjunx like some shareware domicile-wrecker.

But he _did_ owe you for everything that you were doing, and if you were _insisting_...?

Sunstreaker sat up straighter as you entered the patient room, and he turned those wide, guilty eyes on you because _he wasn’t doing anything wrong_. He couldn’t control how he traced where your curves hid under that formless lab-coat, and he hurriedly jerked his head to stare dead ahead. _Oh no._

He told himself things weren't going to change, that things would stay within this ironic spectrum of normal. Judging on how you hesitated right at the doorway, things were _not_ going to stay normal.

You swallowed before willing yourself to speak up, “Are you hungry?”

Seeing him refusing to make eye contact with you was both relieving and upsetting. You felt like you were under a microscope, and everything you did was under scrutiny. If he wasn’t watching you, then he couldn’t judge you, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to be so disgusted with you to where he couldn’t even look your way. It hurt that part you vehemently wanted to deny.

Sunstreaker glanced in your direction, “Yeah. My tanks are rumbling.”

You always found it comical that he still referred to his human anatomy as though he was still a giant robot, and you stifled an awkward chuckle. His head cocked in your direction at the sound and it made the corner of his lip quirk up. You took that as your cue to approach and set a brown paper bag on his tray.

“Holly ran out to get, like, a thousand pounds of takeout,” You said as you pulled out containers, assorting them by what they were. You busied yourself by wheeling the tray by the water cooler stationed by the door and filling foam cups. “She’s such a saint, thinking of things I’ve never considered. I never thought we would stay here all night, and I don’t know who the hell she called, but now there’s a porta-john outside the building and –"

“Uh-huh, fantastic. Gross. Please, stop,” Sunstreaker cut you off, “You’re rambling.”

You met his eyes, and your brows creased nervously. _Yeah, things were drastically different between you._ Sunstreaker’s gaze fell to your mouth, and his thoughts flashed to how soft those lips looked. He worked his jaw and averted his gaze. This lack of control was infuriating. He wasn’t some century-old youngling!

You sucked in a breath. _He couldn’t even look at you without feeling sick._ You finished putting together his unconventional breakfast and wheeled it back to him. “Everyone tells me your vitals are fine. I’m just going to leave this with you and get to work.”

Sunstreaker felt a beat of panic. It wasn’t like he hated the idea of being left alone – although he preferred keeping you in his line of sight, _only_ because if anything happened to you, he would be slag outta luck. He didn’t want to sit here and _think_ anymore. He wanted to talk to his brother, _talk to you_ , remind himself that he was his own bot, not sit all alone and doubt his thoughts. Things couldn’t be left like this, but what could he say to fix it?

He wanted you to look at him. He blurted, “Wuh-wait. Did you – uh, were you here all night?”

You paused, eyes flickering between his and anything else in the room. “We all were. If you’re able, you should stretch out your legs and see the lab. It’s up and running.”

“Yeah, I plan on it,” Sunstreaker nodded a little too eagerly, then asked, “Did you even get any time recharging?”

“I did.” Your smile grew unexpectedly. You woke this morning to the soft playing of music through Sideswipe’s speakers, and when you stirred, you were greeted with a voice purring all around you, _hey soft femme._

It was a sweet embarrassment at first, but the discomfiture faded as he continued to talk to you. Asking how you slept, how your squishy body felt, what you needed and what your plans were. He ferried you about the facility, and you engaged him with the same questions. The conversation was light, _normal_ , definitely different than what Sideswipe was usually like. He told you of his mission briefings, what was expected of him, and how he _really_ wanted to set aside time and fix up this old _thermal lance_ he acquired from the last cache they liberated.

It was all so domestically quaint. You found yourself _really_ enjoying waking up with him. It reminded you of mornings with Sunstreaker, listening to him groan in your living room as he woke while you made coffee, and having a quick breakfast while sleepily chatting. After so long of waking alone in mournful silence, it was nice to have someone to greet you in the morning.

Sunstreaker watched you with a curious tilt to his head. You added appreciatively, “Your brother is very sweet.”

“You don’t know him very well,” He said with a pleased smile of his own, “But I’m glad he’s lookin’ out for you.”

You weren't sure if you were crossing a line sharing, but decided things were better in the open. “I should have known yesterday would have been rough on him. I think, last night, he needed someone more than I did. He’s worried about you.”

Sunstreaker’s smile fell. Most of yesterday was a blur of sharp, white-hot pain drilling into his brain-module. He completely forgot his brother was standing by, powerless. Unmindfully, his hand came up to touch his chest, imagining the surge of panic and fear he would have felt over the bond. His brother was just as alone and scared, and there was nothing he could do.

He looked up at you, brows creased with that vulnerable sincerity, “Then I’m glad you’re lookin’ out for him.”

“I think at this point, we’re all kinda leaning on one another.” You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck and looking anywhere else other than those soulful alien blues. “You should – You should really see him today, let him know you’re okay.”

“And what about you?” Sunstreaker asked.

You didn’t answer, because you weren't sure. Things fell to this heavy silence between you both. You stood there, chewing your lip and staring at the monitor displaying his heartbeat. It remained slightly elevated since you walked in, and you could only surmise that you were currently a stressor for your patient and friend.

Sunstreaker, while realizing you weren't going to answer, struggled with looking at you and not keeping his thoughts in place. The more he fought to keep them down, the more they surged against him. This wasn’t going to get better on its own. He growled out, “We need to talk about this.”

You jolted, and stole a few steps towards the door. You searched for your Business face, but it was lost in the fire that flared over your skin. Maybe if you had a little more time to gather yourself, _prepare_ yourself to face whatever Sunstreaker needed to share, you wouldn’t feel the need to _run_. You had a hard time swallowing, “Nuh-not right now, I have to –"

“Yes, right now,” He said firmly. His eyes fixated on his hands, watching them clench and release. “Don’t make this weirder than it already is.”

Your hands flew up as your squeaky voice broke, “ _Weirder_? How can things get worse? Because right now, I’m absolutely mortified.” You stepped closer, “Don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly concerned for you, but it is so, _so,_ hard to not feel a little... _exposed_ , right now.”

Sunstreaker rubbed his face, his voice muffled, “Okay. _Okay_. Let’s do the talking thing you’re so good at, and be mature about this. I’m a few million years old, and you’re...?”

“An adult,” you said simply, wheeling up the little stool to sit by his bedside.

“Yeah, that, whatever,” He still kept his eyes ahead. He focused better when he wasn’t looking at you. His thoughts stayed his own as he spoke, “The things I’ve seen, they’re not very clear, but they’re _you_. I’ve already said, greasy organic copulation disgusts me, and I want nothing to do with it. I’m doing everything I can to forget this, but the more I try to push it out of my mind, the more I actually think of it. So, the longer I sit here, the harder it gets to think of anything else. I need to get out of here, and I need you to act like everything is normal.”

That made sense. He needed outside stimulation in order to busy his brain. You sucked in a breath, sounding quieter than you intended, “But you can’t look at me without feeling sick.”

Sunstreaker’s head turned sharply, offended, “I don’t feel _sick_ looking at you.”

Your brows went askew. You questioned why he seemed to struggle so much, but you didn’t have a chance to ask as he reached out to your face.

Sunstreaker touched your lips, tickling them with how gingerly he ran his fingertips down. He knew it was a bold move and you would get all flustered, but words were escaping him. He didn’t want you to ever think you were like those substandard organics of your species. You proved to him time and time again, you were different, worthy of more than what you had. You _deserved_ so much more. The Gods were cruel to stick you in such a poor frame. You would have made an _excellent_ Autobot.

He said barely brushing on a whisper, “I don’t need this fragger’s data to know you feel soft. I already know that.”

You couldn’t feel anything other than the drumming rhythm of your heartbeat. The thought of pressing your lips against another used to whip up your stomach in a tsunami of nausea. You reserved saving your kisses for your larger metal friends' gritty and dirty cheeks, and you felt fine. It was innocent and friendly.

The thought of it now? You captured his hand and pulled it down to hold between you. You cleared your throat, pretending that the sensation on your lips didn’t linger. _He’s an alien, he doesn’t know_ , you checked yourself, then _checked_ that check, _but he should, now_.

Sunstreaker turned in his bed to face you more, taking up your other hand to look over the bandages over your knuckles. Glancing up for silent permission, he picked them off and looked over the open wound. His finger gingerly traced around it, wondering if you earned those for him or for yourself.

Slowly, he laced his fingers in yours, blue eyes taking you in from his brow line, “I don’t want anything between us to change.”

You smiled, but there was a sadness behind it. You spoke against the yearning within. “Neither do I.”

Sunstreaker acted on impulse – and he was sure it was his own. With his free hand, he reached to tuck a few of your strands behind your ear. He just wanted to _touch_ , to feel that mane of hair you had. He resisted digging his fingers in the whole mess of it.

You flinched some, giving him a perplexed look, and he gave a shrug, “What?”

“Just...was it bothering you, or...?” Such a display seemed so affectionate, but your patient was coming off as it being no big deal. To _you_ though, it sent those annoying butterflies swarming like the next biblical plague.

“Yeah, I couldn’t stand it,” He lied. You looked more uncomfortable than flustered. He couldn’t take the defensive edge from his tone, “You’re a member of my team. I can't have you walking around looking like a mess. Are you going to get offended every time I lay a servo on you?”

You reeled back at his response, then snapped out, “Maybe you should _ask_ before you just randomly touch me.”

“Maybe I will!” He inwardly cringed. _Smooth_.

You coughed up a laugh at that, and Sunstreaker took that as a good sign. He craned his head to the side, rubbing his neck and bending the truth just a bit, “I get curious, sometimes. I want to be able to explore that without making you uncomfortable.”

“It’s going to,” You chuckled awkwardly, “Sometimes you get a little intimate. Humans, unless they’re coupled, usually don’t touch so much. Do you...is that something you often do?”

“Depends on the mech,” Sunstreaker had a flirty purr to his voice, then cleared his throat to take on a more casual tone, “But usually no, at least for my kind. One would be so lucky. Have you _seen_ me?”

You raised an inquisitive brow. You made note of what your patient said, and even though he said he’s not into tactile contact, he’s very much so with you. You must have looked clueless because he started up again.

“I have a spark-brother, so I constantly feel the presence of another. I’m never alone, unless we’re very far from one another, then the bond weakens.” He squeezed your uninjured hand, “This...this feels like a bond, like I’m not alone.” He locked eyes with you, giving your hand a serious shake to make a point, “I know you’re allowing me to do this, and I don’t take it lightly.”

Your mind was connecting the dots. You were a substitute. _That’s fine_. Honestly, you were a little relieved. You weren’t in danger of your secret affections being reciprocated, and now knowing that, maybe they would die off. He was lonely, and – let’s stop lying to yourself – you were, too.

You felt a tension in your shoulders release, and you breathed out a breath. “Thank you.”

Sunstreaker liked that look. That relaxed, unguarded face devoid of the fronts you put on. He retracted his hand and pulled his tray over his lap, deciding he would get a little greedy and make you laugh, “You’d better be thanking me. It’s not often I let a soft little organic lay their servos on me.”

“Oh yes, the day would never be complete without a dose of your ego,” You scoffed and unknowingly gave him what he wanted.

“While I fuel up, how about you regale me with what you and Sideswipe were up to, last night,” He deliberately put an accusatory drawl on his tone. He wondered how you felt in his servos, and how much you enjoyed his brother’s company. He didn’t need the bond to know that slagger felt some kind of way towards you. He just wasn’t sure _what_ he felt, and Sideswipe wasn’t about to just open up and tell him with _words_. _Primus forbid_ the two actually hold a serious conversation. 

“Don’t even,” You warned good-naturedly, “Who knows what rumors are flying around after Beth’s visit, yesterday. I don’t need to add to it. Next thing you know, you and Sides start bickering and everyone looks at me like I’m _that_ kind of girl.”

Sunstreaker asked with a full mouth, “ _That_ kind of girl?”

“Or person,” You tried to explain to a species that wasn’t native to your planet, “You know, the type who likes to get in-between two friends or siblings?”

_Get in-between?_ His brow arched curiously, “Go on.”

“And likes to cause them to fight?” You mimed a boxing match. “Do you guys not have that kind of drama with your relationships? Two friends fighting over one person?”

“Yeah, that _can_ happen.” He swallowed down his food and wiped his mouth, slowly smiling at a thought. He watched you carefully as he dropped a bombshell, “But Sides and I never really _fight_ over whoever wants to get between us.”

You were completely unaffected by the explosion, obliviously rolling your eyes, “That’s great you two got that strong brotherhood and all, but seriously, curb the teasing. I don’t need people gossiping more than they already are.”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes, “Yes, bossy femme.”

“I mean it. Don’t give anyone wild ideas.”

He shoved rice in his mouth, muffling his mock agreements.

You huffed, rolling over to his charts and glancing them over. Things appeared within their normal spectrum. Everything was infuriatingly _normal_ on paper. You quickly flipped through his behavior analysis and the end result was that he was _adjusting_. Before his episode, he was labeled as _fine_ , and now he was found as _reasonably stressed, but adjusting_.

You didn’t want him to adjust to this.

“You got that look to your face.”

You angled your head to see him pointing at you with a piece of battered chicken.

“You get this little pinch in-between your browplates, and your mouth does the same thing Prowl’s does _every cycle_ ,” He dipped his chicken in the sweet-and-sour sauce. 

You slipped his charts back in the slot, crossing your arms, “Do I?”

“You’re always observing me. Of course I would watch you in return,” He shot back with a haughty lift to his brow, “Most bots would feel privileged I would even look their way. I should be insulted you don’t feel the same.”

Sunstreaker liked seeing you riled up. It got your mind off of things, made your face change color, and there was something victorious of making your eloquent self sputter like a stuttering engine. He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile as you palmed your forehead.

He didn’t expect you to drill him with such a forward question.

“Cybertronians don’t reproduce,” You said clearly, like you were preparing a presentation, “but you have the capability to fall in various kinds of love and create familial, platonic, and romantic bonds. Amicas and conjunx, correct?”

You had enough. You _heard_ enough. Just how much was your patient _adjusting_?

If you had a spotlight, you would have shined it on Sunstreaker. “I need to know if our human mannerisms are bleeding into you, because some of the things you say about other mechs can come off as pretty suggestive. From what I understand, Cybertronians don’t experience physical gratification when it comes to romantic relationships, but you almost imply like they can.”

Sunstreaker reeled back some, instinctively wanting to deny _because that was the procedure_. These were fleshlings, _small_ fleshlings. Bad things were bound to happen if some glitched mech just popped their plates and caused some international – _intergalactic –_ incident. Not saying that sort of thing never happened, but let’s just say after a few _unnamed_ mechs got overcharged and went planet-hopping, the Autobots were lucky Pova signed the Neutrality Agreement and didn’t side with the Decepticons _that day_.

But he wasn’t a twenty-foot tall hunk of metal, and you were _asking_. Prowl wasn’t here to enforce the rules, and you were a reasonable person who wouldn’t go telling everyone what some Cybertronians did behind closed doors. He leaned forward and motioned you closer, “Since we’re comrades, I’ll let you in on a secret, but no blabbing. Autobots don’t make it a habit to share this kind of thing with fleshies as small as you.”

_Secret_? You eagerly wheeled closer. To learn something no one else knew? You waved for him to continue, nodding your promise.

“We call it inter –"

The door clicked open, and you jumped, looking over your shoulder at whoever _didn’t_ knock. Sunstreaker shut his mouth, craning his head to see the face of your pale blonde minion peek in.

“Yes, Patricia?” You said a little too sweetly. You were a little self-conscious being caught talking too closely with your patient. 

Doctor Patricia McSwain hesitated a moment. She was often a bit soft-spoken, but today was a little different. Today, the floor around you was covered in eggshells, and everyone within your team treaded lightly. Your display yesterday was not _you_. In the past, yes, you’ve snapped, had a few private melt-downs some were privy to, but to take a full-on swing at someone accusing you of having sex with a patient?

You prided yourself at being diplomatic. Falling to the level of a schoolyard scuffle was not something you were proud of.

Patricia’s voice was barely audible, “Ah, uh, that lady, Miss...uhh –"

“A little louder,” You coaxed gently.

“That blonde lady – she’s fighting with Tech-En Faireborn –" She spoke up just long enough to get cut off. Doctor Jane White came barreling in behind her, throwing open the door to slam loudly against the wall.

“Holly just put that jerk to the ground!” She announced breathlessly, like a kid diving into a classroom to declare the brawl on the playground.

You jumped to your feet, mainly because you heard Bethany shriek like a seagull on fire, and raced out right behind the two with Sunstreaker hot on your heels. You ran to the railing, taking in this train-wreck of a scene on the floor below.

Alan was hunched over on his knees, holding his chest and wheezing. Your assistant, Holly LeTene, had the taller woman’s arm twisted behind her back and forced her up against the wall, as casual as you please. She wasn’t even looking at the screeching woman she restrained. She turned half her body towards the tattooed man, eyes on him as he struggled to catch his breath.

People and bots all around spouted encouragements like this was the _goddamn_ Thunderdome. Even Prowl peeked in at the ruckus, looking to make someone’s day a little harder. When his optics found the spontaneous arena, and who was currently on the floor, he became an approving observer.

“Stay down, Mr. Faireborn,” Holly warned, “I’ll not be so generous, next time.”

“Cheap shot,” he wheezed, trying both to hug his chest and push himself up, “ _guhh_...I...hate...you...”

Bethany snarled like a Pomeranian, “I swear to God, you fucking bitch – ha-AHhh!”

Holly pushed up a little more, threatening to dislocate her shoulder. She hummed quietly, “If I want to hear your voice, I’ll just make you sing.”

You let this go on long enough, despite this darker side of you wanting to see how things play out. But that wasn’t you. That wasn’t the _side_ you wanted to encourage to grow, let alone let people see. You stuck your fingers in your mouth and let out a whistle so sharp, dogs in the distance should come running. Everyone quieted and looked up to you, and Sunstreaker let out a deflated _aww_.

Prowl suddenly spoke like he just showed up, “Ah, break it up. This is not the pits of Kaon. Back to your stations.”

You signaled for your assistant to release Bethany before turning to your distracted staff. “Back to work. Jane, take Sunny for whatever follow-ups are needed. I’ll be checking in as soon as I deal with our visitor, and could someone make sure Holly didn’t break Alan’s ribs. Dismissed.”

You must have taken a stern tone, because everyone scattered like mice. Sunstreaker muttered, _killjoy_ , as he was escorted away, leaving you to tromp your way down the steps. By the time you reached the floor, your assistant was still standing stoutly between Alan and Bethany like a knight at her post.

“Ma’am,” she nodded to you expectantly, speaking as if nothing ever happened, “Miss Beller is here to see you.”

You blinked a few times, equal parts amused and stunned, “Thank you. Carry on.”

“Check on me!” Alan rasped, then coughed, “Do your doctor shit and help me.”

You waved a frazzled Bethany along, looking the tattooed man up and down before asking your assistant, “How badly did you injure him?”

“I only hit him in the solar plexus, Ma’am. If he wasn’t a smoker, he would have caught his breath by now,” There was this witty little taunt to her words, “I didn’t hit him that hard.”

“Fuck you,” Alan just sounded _pitiful_.

_“Je vais te découper comme un arbre,”_ She sung back. It sounded like a lullaby, but nowadays you never quite knew with Holly.

Gingerly, you escorted the tall blonde out of the area with a hand on her back. She was already whimpering and whining, holding her arm by the elbow. You heard the tech snap out behind you, “Wipe that fuckin’ grin off your face, Bumble _bitch_ -bot. Goddamn-it, my pack of cigs are all smooshed.”

You glanced over your shoulder in time to see Alan limp off, offering Prowl an obscene hand gesture as he started lighting a cigarette. Bumblebee gave a bow of approval to Holly, who simply returned with a humble curtsy of her own. Somehow, with this team of people, you were managing, but you just didn’t know how.

“Jesus Christ, Eevee. That bitch was about to rip my arm off,” Bethany rolled her shoulder, “I thought she was your assistant, not a fucking ninja.”

It was a knee-jerk reaction to apologize, but that bitter part of you threw on the breaks. This woman came waltzing in like nothing happened, and didn’t expect your pit-bull assistant to get a little creative? You shrugged nonchalantly, “She’s really good at making coffee.”

Bethany huffed, keeping in stride with you as you turned the corner. The natural daylight spilled in the long hall, illuminating her face, and the purple splotch and split that colored the side of her mouth. You couldn’t take your eyes off of what you’d done, feeling a mix of shame and pride. When she turned to look down at you, was when you averted your eyes ahead.

“Why are you here?” You asked.

“I wanted to apologize,” She breathed out.

You were so surprised, you blurted, “I _hit_ you.”

“I _know_ ,” She matched your pitch, pointing to her bruise like a badge, “But this got me free breakfast at a diner, so I’m not _too_ upset.”

You stopped at the open hangar door, looking at her like she was insane – because she _was_. Why was she acting like this? You _hit_ her! Granted, she deserved it, _oh my god did she deserve it,_ but that didn’t make it right. If there wasn’t a bigger red flag to tell her that she was unwelcomed, then maybe you should upgrade to a jet writing in the sky. You wondered if Jetfire was busy.

Bethany moved her hands about like she was talking, and her lips moved in sync, but it was all absent of sound. For a moment, you thought you’d gone deaf. Then, you thought she went mute. The poor woman finally made the croaking noises of struggling, “I...I was wrong to think things haven’t changed between us. I was wrong to think we could still be friends.”

_What the fuck was happening, right now?_

“I walk away for three years. _Three_. I don’t want to walk away, anymore.” She tried to chew her lip and winced when she bit right down on her scab. “I miss you. I miss _us_. I miss how we used to be. I know I can’t have that back, but maybe we can start over?”

You braced yourself on the doorframe. You hated this sentimental part of you, that little weeping girl that wanted to have her back. Then, there was the ever-present Scientist, holding this olive branch with her hemostats and inspecting it warily. You replayed the fresh hell of yesterday, and let that fuel your defenses. “You compromised my patient’s stability.”

She sucked her teeth, “Well, I had _no_ idea that talking about sex would throw him into a seizure and see _Henri’s memories_.”

“I told you to stop,” You said firmly, “And you _didn’t_.”

“Because I thought you were embarrassed!” She argued, “Don’t you get it? I just showed up and you’re chummy with the alien _inside_ my friend! How else am I supposed to read the room? But you know what, I wasn’t going to judge. I might’ve ribbed you now and then, but I’ve _always_ teased you and you’ve always laughed.”

“I wasn’t laughing,” You said dryly.

“I get that. I had all night alone to think about things,” She sniffed and carefully brushed her eye, avoiding her makeup, “I should’ve never left. I’m sorry.”

You pressed your lips together, questioning whether this was the moment of forgiveness you’ve been dreaming of. If everyone could put aside all this _bullshit_ , all this _blame_ , then maybe you wouldn’t feel so tired. You had to look away, to turn your eyes skyward at the overcast above.

“But I think I did you a favor.”

Your head snapped back to her. This was all too good to be true, and now the time had come for her to ruin it all. Instead, she faced you with a hopeful smile.

“You pack quite a punch, and you certainly didn’t learn that from me.” Bethany took a poor stance and wriggled her hips in tandem with her fists, “Maybe you could teach me.”

You snorted a laugh. She looked ridiculous, but she beamed at your reaction and took your hand. You fought the urge to pull it away, trying to keep a good poker-face as she read your expression. She held it up to look over the open sore over your knuckle. “I’ve heard it called a _fight-bite_. To think you of all people would end up with one of these. I think next time you say _stop_ , I’ll listen.”

Bethany stepped closer and tossed her hair, smiling at you with that sweet sunshine smile she would wear when she was happy. You caught onto a faint scent that reminded you of your mother’s perfume, and it brought with it fond memories of trying on her old clothes with the blonde. You couldn’t help but smile back, “Thank you. Maybe we can talk more, later? I should be getting back.”

“Just, one thing,” She interjected eagerly, “You never told me that... _thing_ was seeing Henri’s memories. Does he –"

“No,” You cut her off a little firmer than you intended, maybe because you didn’t quite appreciate Sunstreaker being called a _thing_. You gave yourself a beat, licking your lips, “My patient doesn’t know about that night. Alan’s already pestered him about it, and I don’t want anyone else doing the same thing.”

Bethany’s brows furrowed, her eyes flitting away within the facility, “Can I talk to him?”

“Why?”

Her gaze snapped back to you, “To apologize.” She paused a moment before adding, “I was out of line, yesterday. I want to apologize to him.”

Bethany was trying. Who were you to deny her becoming a better person? Then, the Scientist slapped down that emotional, naive side of you and directed your brain to something a bit more prudent. You responded with a shake of your head, “No. Things are a little delicate. He just came out from under sedation, and is undergoing a few tests that may stress him out. Tonight, I’ll talk to him and see if he’s willing to meet. Sunstreaker is a little...hostile when being forced to do something he doesn’t want to.”

She stared you down, her nostrils flared and her lip twitched. Then, she smiled patiently, “I understand.”

You smiled back, but much of it was uncertain. Somewhere inside you, a little red flag was being hoisted.

“Oh, and before I go,” She turned her side to you, “It’s still my equipment up there, and I still have a job to do. Tell Alan to give me full diagnostic reports showing performance and ratings.”

“Aww, c’mon,” You chuckled tensely, “You want me to make Alan do _work_? You know he won’t do that for you.”

“Maybe not, but you’re the boss here, _Doctor_ Morgan,” Bethany started for her car, waggling a playful finger at you, “There are only so many people I can report to, to make sure everyone is doing their job. I’ll check in tomorrow, okay? I’ll bring lunch.”

“Uh, okay,” You were still processing how you were going to make Alan fill out those reports. With a wave, she got in her car and drove off. You stood there for a bit, unsure if you were waiting for her to turn around and cry out _Psyche_ , or if you were questioning the very fabric of time and whether you were still in your dimensional universe. _Bethany apologized_.

Finally, you realized time moved one way, and you started back within the facility, dutifully hugging the exterior wall to stay out from underfoot – ped, _whatever_. You replayed that whole conversation in your mind, and you just couldn’t shake one image. That look on her face when you told her _no_. Her smile was forced. You weren’t naïve enough to wholly believe she only wanted to apologize to him. You were sure, after hearing that Alan had already asked, that she felt she had the right.

You were ashamed to say, _that was low on your list_. Sunstreaker was your priority. Finding a way to return him to his body was the only thing that mattered, right now. If Alan needed to hear that he called for Henri to pick him up from his very mouth, he would have to wait. Bethany would have to wait. Henri would have to wait. Everyone just had to _fucking_ wait because Sunstreaker needed you _now_. 

_There are only so many people I can report to..._

You braced yourself on the wall, your steps slowing as those words surfaced like a bloated corpse. _No_ , you told yourself, _that wasn’t a...was it?_

You couldn’t even say the word in your own mind. _Threat_. Would Bethany _actually_ incriminate herself to turn you in? Maybe if she spun the story just right, but why? She had no reason to. Would she be that petty to _threaten_ you because you wouldn’t let her talk to Sunstreaker? No, _no_ , she apologized. Things were going to get better. You were just being paranoid. 

You picked up the pace, making your way through the massive halls and into the brightly lit area of the life-support room and your impromptu lab. You climbed the steps and searched the area, finding the man with the most tattoos and the least amount of work attire. You weaved through people and machines, taking the length of catwalk down by the massive alien terminals that hooked up to Sunstreaker’s metal body.

Alan didn’t grace you with a glance as you approached, instructing, “Bethany requires diagnostic reports and performance reviews on her stuff.”

“Bethany requires my boot in her face,” He muttered with both wire-strippers and a cigarette in his mouth. He casually continued to twist wires together and prepared his soldering kit.

“Okay,” You blew out a realigning breath, debating whether to bring up this lingering mistrust you had from her unnecessary comment. “I just really want everyone to play nice, right now. I want everyone to set their emotions aside and focus on getting through this.”

“I don’t have to do _shit_.”

“Alan, please don’t be difficult. Bethany apologized for yesterday and asked for this. I would really love some cooperation –"

His head snapped up so fast, he lost everything his mouth was holding. “Are you serious? She a _pologized_? You popped her in the _face_. She should be trying to claw your eyes out.”

“I was surprised too, but maybe she matured,” You gave the benefit of a doubt, “All I know is that she came to me, saying how sorry she was, and how things are so different, and how she missed me.”

Alan slowly got to his feet with a grunt, “Uh-huh. So she was softening you up.”

You blinked, “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t you think it was weird she didn’t try to wear that cover-up shit to hide what you did?” He tapped on his mouth to push his point, “I need you to think like a brain-doc for a moment and take a good look at her.”

You crossed your arms, trying to find fault in his observation. “She said it got her free breakfast.”

“Yeah, because she’s the type to accept pity,” He said derisively. He searched a bit and returned his fallen cigarette to his mouth, taking in a long draw before breathing out, “Was that all? Did she ask about anything? Ask _for_ anything?”

You didn’t like this. You didn’t like what he was insinuating. You didn’t like how you suddenly felt very foolish. “She asked if Sunny saw what happened that night, then she asked to talk to him so she could apologize.”

“And? What was your answer?”

“No. Not today.”

His blew smoke through his nose and arched a brow. You felt very, _very,_ small. You shook your head, refusing to be wrong, _refusing to be played_. “Yeah, she looked a little upset, but she didn’t freak out over it. I get that you hate her, and you have every reason to, but you’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

Alan stepped a little closer and leaned against the railing. His expression started to get under your skin. He was feeling _sorry for you_. You glared, getting it across that you didn’t appreciate him putting this idea in your head, but at the same time you were more mad that you’d never _considered it_. 

“You forget that Beth and I were cool, once upon a time,” He said so gently, it rocked you in place. It only flared your anger. “She always got what she wanted, and I’ll tell you truthfully, it was real fuckin’ scary what she’d do to get it. You never saw it because you’d been her _yes girl_ since high school.”

You laughed it off, “I’ve told her no, before.”

“Yeah, you started making a trend of it when you got with Henri,” He said, and the words were frigid on your ears, “You started hangin’ with Henri more than her. You went to a different university with Henri. You made plans to live your life by _your_ standards, than following Beth. Don’t you remember those nights of her guilting you? Of you feeling like shit?”

“What are you trying to say?” You didn’t want him to answer. He sounded crazy. What the hell was he trying to imply? Whatever answers were surfacing in your mind, you were hurriedly drowning them back down because this sounded like some stupid conspiracy, like how the government was watching you through the television. _Just ridiculous!_ You argued, and you weren't sure why you felt like you were defending yourself more than her. “Beth was my _best friend_.”

“ _Was_. Who knows when you stopped being hers. How it looks to me, she walked away from you far too easily to have been your _best friend_.” Alan crossed his arms, a sullen look darkening his face. “Hindsight is a tricky bitch.”

He wasn’t telling you everything that was on his mind, and you fought with yourself to ask. The chalkboard in your mind was swirling with scribbles, connecting dots till it was a tangled mess of yarn balls. You stared hard at him as you would a stark white puzzle, trying to put the pieces together. She _did_ walk away and never came back. You always thought that she was just that hurt by the choices you made, but it never occurred to you that there were ill feelings _before_ the accident.

Alan had enough watching you struggle quietly. He leaned forward to capture your far-away gaze, taking on that firm, but mild tone, “People lie. Sometimes, you don’t see the masks people wear until they take it off.”

_People lie_. You ground your teeth together. Doctor Arkeville lied, your father lied, and now Bethany might be lying or manipulating you or _whatever_! Why? _For what reason?!_ Was everyone out there just looking to _fuck_ with you, when all you wanted to do was the right thing? Was there anyone you could trust whole-heartedly? You didn’t intend for that to be answered and found yourself thinking of the friends you’ve made. You thought of Sunstreaker.

You jerked your head to the side, trying to stop your mind from wandering to the Autobot. You turned your ire to the only man in your vicinity, “And what about you? Are you wearing a mask, too?”

“If I did, don’t you think I’d be more popular?” He said, turning to return to his work, “Listen, I just want you to watch your back. Be smart, and be careful who you trust.”

_Be smart_. You _were_ smart. Just not when it came to people, it seemed. You hesitated to turn away, to end the conversation. _Trust_ was such a heavy word, a glass vase you couldn’t hand to just anyone. You were left there, holding it alone, wanting to hand it to someone. You thought you could trust Alan, and he never gave you any cause not to, but with Bethany back in the picture, his perspective was a little skewed. You trusted Holly to a point, only because you were finding that you never really knew her. You trusted your staff, but you were their boss.

That only left so few others left to carry this heavy, fragile vase. You found yourself looking over Sunstreaker’s Autobot body.

“Doctor Morgan,” One of your own called out from the lofted lab. You made your way down the strip of catwalk to where three of your own research team waited anxiously. Both Doctor Patricia McSwain and John Butler looked to the one who excelled in radiology, Doctor Nora Hart, giving the indication to hand you the clipboard that held several sheets of brain scans. You easily set all your baggage aside and fitted on your Professional mask.

“We’re...a little stuck. Look at the results we have so far,” Doctor Hart began, “These patterns are...I’ve never seen anything like this. We have been known to use up to thirty-five percent of our brain, give or take due to fluctuating processes, but this is double that. Trish pulled up a medical journal, and she – what did you call it?”

Doctor McSwain stepped in to point at the scans in your hand, “You could say this is similar to those with spectacular eidetic memory, but this is much too different to make that conjecture.” Her finger drew your eye to different parts of the brain, “See how the Medial Temporal Lobe is lit up like a Christmas tree? That’s the Hippocampus, Entorhinal and Perirhinal cortex. And see the Temporal cortex and frontal lobe? Even the frontal lobe and cerebral cortex are coming up as highly active every time we scanned.”

Your brows nearly touched, “It’s all part of the brain that stores memories and aptitude. It’s bright. _Really_ bright. Could it be...overloaded? Could this be causing pain?”

“I’ve dug up studies, and there's just not much to compare this to. I can’t say for sure if this is the reason for his pain,” Patricia shook her head, “but things get worse.”

She nodded to Doctor Butler who handed you a secondary scan. Doctor Hart explained, “This was the patient’s most recent scan before the incident, before Mr. Sunstreaker animated the body. We’ve compared the two, and look again at his Temporal Cortex – where memories are consolidated. If you put the two side by side, one is more lit up, but do you see where it looks like its...getting bigger? Growing? The theory is not conclusive, and I don’t have evidence, but I think...” She opened her mouth, but nothing was coming out as she looked to her two coworkers, “I think...”

“On your own time, Nora.” You said with a scary amount of calm.

“Trish...could you...?” She struggled.

Patricia took over, “We think the two consciousnesses are melding into one another. We think the longer we wait, more of these episodes will happen, and the more we risk damaging this brain once we separate them. We don’t know if this means Sunstreaker will start confusing what’s his, or what's Mr. Arkeville’s, or if he will completely smother out Henri’s consciousness.”

The lab was silent. You didn’t hear any sounds of work. Everyone was listening intently, and everyone held their breath.

“Slag.”

Your head snapped over to where Sunstreaker was standing beside Doctor Jane White. She glanced around nervously, “Well, we-we’re done for now.”

You kept a rigid posture, doing your damndest to appear like a pillar of strength while you met eyes with the Autobot wrapped in flesh. He searched you for any iota of fear or concern, looking for the right mood of the room. If you weren’t worried, then he wouldn’t be, either. You wore your mask well.

You directed yourself back to the three, “We will scan again later tonight. Henri’s comatose brain is not a sufficient baseline, so choose amongst yourselves who will be submitting scans for comparison’s sake. Also, come up with activities to see if any readings change while he’s problem-solving. I want to see how much of this brain he’s using.”

They nodded and scattered. Everyone ducked back down to resume what they were working on. You waved Doctor White and Sunstreaker over. She said contritely, “Sorry, Doc. I would have kept him inside if I knew results like that were being given.”

“It’s alright,” you said rigidly. It wasn’t. You would rather deliver this news to him on your own after giving yourself time to absorb it. “Make sure that data reaches First Aid. We need to make sure all our information is passing seamlessly to the Autobots. Dismissed.”

She nodded and scampered off. You stiffly guided Sunstreaker back to his patient room, despite the eyes that watched you, and closed the door behind you both. Before he could say anything, you were already planting yourself on his medical bed, rubbing your face and eyes hard enough to taste the kaleidoscope of colors behind your lids.

Sunstreaker watched you for a moment, then snorted, “You’re gone, for like, twenty kliks, and you already look like you’re falling apart,” He sauntered your way and plopped beside you, “Are you worried about your sparkmate?”

You thought of what Bethany said. You thought of Alan’s words. You thought of Agent Simmons’ black-hole eyes. You thought of how Sunstreaker’s shoulder touched yours. You thought of what you _wanted_ to say. You groaned, “God, I wish that was the _only_ thing I was worrying about.”

“I should be the only thing you’re worrying about.”

You dragged your hands down your face to turn a glare his way. He was trying to smirk, but it came off as hesitant. He wanted to make you smile. He looked down before offering his hand to you like some sweetheart at the soda shoppe.

He shrugged, murmuring like a grumpy child, “I mean, I _should_.”

_Fuck it_. You wrapped your arms around his torso and hid your face against his chest. You had a healthy dose of _bullshit_ that had nothing to do with the problems you were facing. Then, you were slapped with an _actual_ problem, one that threatened the man you were trying to save, and you had to fight down not just the terror of whatever was happening to Henri’s brain, but the fear of Sunstreaker coming to any harm.

_Are you worried about your sparkmate?_

It used to be that only Henri mattered, and everything else was redundant. Now, Sunstreaker took the forefront. It was a horrible shame to clamp down on your reflexive answer of _“No, I’m worried about you.”_ You were worried about Henri, because you _loved_ him. You were worried about Sunstreaker, because you _cared_ for him. _Cared_. You _cared_ for him.

Sunstreaker grunted, completely taken by surprise. He sat there, wide-eyed staring down at the top of your head with his arms out like he was about to lead the _chicken dance_. Your arms squeezed him tightly, and he felt a breath shudder from your frame. What could have happened to make you so unpredictable, like this? _Later_ , he thought, and let his hands rest on your back. He rubbed them up and down, finding the outline of your mammary holster – _bra_ , whatever. It made his eye twitch, keeping his thoughts from wandering in those intimate shadows.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” He assured, encompassing your shoulders in his arms, “but if you do, I’ll shut up and listen. Or, we can get outta here. I’m sure Sides would love to see you.”

The drama had nothing to do with Sunstreaker, and the solution was so simple. _Just set it all aside_. The medical issues with the brain were something you didn’t want to stress him with, so that wouldn’t be a topic of conversation. You rubbed your face against him, sighing, “I have to get back to work.”

_Of course you did_. Sunstreaker snorted a chuckle, “Yeah, yeah. Either tonight or tomorrow, I demand some time with you and my brother. You won’t be disappointed.”

He sounded like such a greedy child. It felt nice to be wanted with no strings attached. You tilted your head down, hiding your smile. “We’ll see. Probably tonight, not tomorrow. Bethany is coming back, tomorrow.”

He tensed, “Why?”

You felt it, and said carefully, “To pick up on some reports.”

“And then she’s leaving?”

It was easy to pick up that Sunstreaker wanted nothing to do with her, but still, you offered, “She wanted to see you and apologize for yesterday. I told her I’d talk to you about it.”

“I don’t want to see her,” He said, whip-snap quick.

You pulled away to look up at him, more from the surprise of how fast he responded with a _hard_ no. Your curiosity was piqued, “Not arguing, but why?”

Sunstreaker unwillingly thought of her, and those golden blonde locks that reminded him of his real body. He thought of those long struts, and curvy hips and shapely chassis. He thought of those liberty-blue optics and painted, pouty derma.

He suddenly pulled you back in. You squeaked out a noise of surprise, sputtering his name because _that_ took you off guard. He brought up a hand and dug his fingers in your hair, completely running your semi-neat bun, and pressed his face against the top of your head and took a _deep_ breath. You still smelled of where you slept, of oil, energon, and ozone. It reminded him of what he was. It reminded him of _home_. 

“Sunny,” You protested, freezing up when he growled.

“I just can’t stand the sight of her,” He said with finality, “Makes me _sick_.”

Later, you wouldn’t find the time to spend with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. You had to get everything ready, as you received the news of the coming shuttle scheduled to arrive _tomorrow_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe hovered over First Aid’s shoulder, staring at the computer screen as hard as he could. “That’s inside their heads?”  
> “Humans call it a *brain*,” First Aid snapped, “Can I get some space? Could you go do something else?”  
> “I’m bored,” The red gunner whined, “Everybody left, and I don’t want just sit around and think about all the bad stuff that’s happening.”  
> “I get it,” The medic said with strained patience, “Really, I do. But the longer you let me concentrate in peace, the faster I can help get your brother back, and then you can go bother him. But PLEASE give me some peace and quiet.”  
> Jetfire added from across the room, “Maybe if you gave him something to do –"  
> “YOU give him something to do!”  
> The jet scientist glanced up from his microscope. All over the table were datapads, samples, and everything Sideswipe was not allowed to touch.  
> First Aid let out a sympathetic vent at the pouting gunner, giving him a pat on the shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll think of something, and I’m sure whatever you think of will annoy the slag out of Prowl, and I’m sure you’ll get all the attention you want.”  
> Suddenly, Bluestreak came in holding a massive stack of billboards. “Guys! Look what I found on patrol! There were tons of these big pictures all along the road!”  
> Sideswipe perked up, meandering over to inspect.  
> Bumblebee then popped in behind him, carrying a metal crate, “Hey, do you guys need any paint? We just found an extra surplus in our inventory.”  
> The front-liner’s optics bounced between the two.  
> “Oh, look, I suddenly don’t need this table, anymore,” Jetfire said as he hurriedly cleared it off and dumped everything on a nearby counter.  
> “Oooh nooo,” First Aid said with faux-concern as he aimed his blaster and pinged the camera off the wall, “the security camera in this room suddenly malfunctioned. Oh well, I’ll just turn my back and get back to work without EVER checking on everyone else.”  
> ~LATER~  
> Prowl thought the human paint-job had expired. The man laid on the floor, wheezing, eyes leaking. Turns out the mech wasn’t that lucky, and Alan had only fallen into hysterics before the massive billboard posted on the wall.  
> It was of that human propaganda figure, ‘Uncle Sam.’ Painted over his message, it read:
> 
> |“Tables are made for sits,|  
> |Not flips.”|
> 
> He looked up at the sky longingly. He bet Soundwave never had to put up with this. 
> 
> ~~~ For Tricia C and their hilarious idea on bots and memes <3 Thank you so much for sharing!!!


	22. Gentle Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Autobot Science team is minutes away from arriving, Sunstreaker finally confesses the feelings that ails him, and Bethany only puts on the pressure.  
> You, unfortunately, are much to busy to connect the dots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost - BIG THANK YOU to LoveTutorials (lovetutorials.tumblr.com) for looking over my French. Check out their blog, as it is adorable and filled with everything cute.
> 
> I'm sure with all of us staying home and binge-watching whatever we can, I wonder if any of you had seen Chernobyl. Whether the series misrepresented that tragic event or not, it was still a very interesting show, and for me, pretty terrifying.  
> I tagged this as "In tune with 80s events and references" but this story takes place earlier than 1986 when the explosion in Prip'yat occurred.
> 
> With all that being said, there are some facts about radiation, symptoms of radiation sickness, and the tests available during that time.   
> There are even some body-language cues I've looked up just for this. 
> 
> Hope you and yours are still doing well.

“You’re late,” Holly’s voice clipped as soon as you rounded the corner.

Your soft, still-waking brain took in the life-support/human laboratory. Your assistant made for a good blockade, standing firmly a few steps up along the stairway leading up to the loft. Prowl stood beside the steps, partially turned towards you, appearing as though he was recently in discussions with her. He set his hands on his hips, shaking his head disapprovingly.

_Great. They united._ You withered, too tired to put up a decent fight. “It’s so busy out front. My car nearly got stepped on.”

“They are prepping for the arriving medical team,” Prowl crossed his arms, “You were aware of this, and you did not plan for a little _traffic_?”

Holly began descending, and you met her halfway, eagerly taking up the coffee she offered. “I _did_. I didn’t plan on feeling rushed and almost tripping Bumblebee. Sunstreaker took _forever_ in the shower, this morning.” 

“ _š'il fait pleurer les anges, Je juré devant Dieu_...” She muttered under her breath, fishing through her handbag.

The Autobot Commander drew your attention, “Where is he?”

“Trying my patience,” You nearly choked on your morning beverage. It was cold. Holly must have been a little peeved with you. You resigned yourself to drink it all. “He’s outside, giving me an anxiety attack. Blue promised he would keep Sunny from getting stepped on. I’m going just to turn my back and try not to imagine what the record is for how many bones a person can break.”

Prowl inclined his head, offering with this underlying tone of geniality, “I can order him inside if you prefer.”

You chuckled and waved him off, “No, no, you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were talking about. I can slip on by and you two can carry on.”

“It’s no trouble. We’ve concluded our conversation on security procedures and surveillance when you arrived,” He added for good measure, “ _late_.”

You turned your head slowly to Holly. _Security procedures and surveillance?_ Why did it feel like two separate halves just realized they were on the same coin? She responded with quirking a knowing brow, “Were you aware _Monsieur_ Prowl had outfitted the facility with extra security cameras? The audio reception is impressive.”

_Extra cameras, where?_ You immediately thought of Sunstreaker’s patient room. Could these cameras pick up the sound coming from within? Were there cameras _outside_ the facility? It would make sense that there were, but did that mean your conversation with Bethany wasn’t as private as you originally thought?

She threw you off your train of thought as she held out a pill bottle, adding, “If you wish to review how I handled the altercation from yesterday, I have requested it be made available to you.”

“Oh,” You chirped, aptly distracted by reading the label, “No, I trust you did what you felt was appropriate.”

“More could have been done,” Prowl hummed.

Holly had an agreeable tone as she replied in her native language, “ _J'aurais dû lui casser le bras_.”

“ _Après sa menace, je suis d'accord,_ ” The Autobot Commander said smoothly.

Your head snapped up, looking between the two. French on Prowl’s vocals had an incredibly pleasing purr, but it rattled you more than tickled your senses. You played the pill bottle like a maraca. “No. _No_. Not fair. Don’t you two be having full conversations with me standing right here, having no idea what you two are saying.”

“Why haven’t you learned?” Prowl sounded much too close to a scolding father, “You’re able to communicate binary codes with your assistant, why not learn a new way to communicate covertly? You’re wasting –"

Holly waved a dismissive hand, sighing, “Don’t bother. She can't count past _quatre._ ”

This was becoming the _worst_ morning – maybe you were being a little dramatic, but it was starting to _feel_ like it! Between Sunstreaker working extra hard to pretty himself up, trying to find safe parking amongst the hustle and bustle out front, and now, _now_ , your assistant and self-proclaimed boss were judging you for not learning a different language! You were _not_ expecting this kind of _bullshit_ so early in the morning, _and you were late AND why the hell were you handed these pills!?_

You exhaled and closed your eyes long enough to reset the universe. _Let it all go_. When you opened them, you glanced down at the bottle, “Why do I have potassium iodide tablets?”

“Those tests we performed on a few of the staff last night, so we would have different baselines to compare Sunstreaker’s results to? We finally processed them all a few hours ago,” Holly reported, “yours came back abnormal.”

_You were not expecting this kind of bullshit_. You remained calm, instantly knowing why she handed you iodine tablets. “I’ve been exposed to radiation.”

“I already have Doctor Newell taking a Geiger counter all over this room, but there’s no evidence of a leak or an alien machine putting off particles,” She kept a steady, professional, demeanor. “Prowl assures me we are far enough away from their energon stockpile, but your readings do not coincide with energon exposure. Do you recall where you’ve been in the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours?”

_That’s_ why she was a little pissed you were late. Whatever you came in contact with, she wanted to limit the teams’ exposure as much as possible and see to your health. You didn’t have to sift too deeply through your memories to find what would have blasted you with alien radiation. You felt foolish, rubbing your face with a groan, “I fell asleep on one of their recharge slabs, while it was _on_.”

“You _fell asleep_ on an alien bed. Of unknown make. That is _used_ to convert and transfer power _directly_ to the body of a mechanical _alien_ species?” Holly’s tone was _exactly_ what you’d expect it to be.

You popped a few iodine tablets in response.

“ _Monsieur_ Prowl, could I please request one of your own to escort Doctor Newell around your facility? I would like to gauge how much radiation Doctor Morgan _subjected_ herself to,” She said sharply, making shaving razors look dull.

He canted his head, looking at you like you were the biggest inconvenience since finding out one of his soldiers was trapped in a human body. Prowl grumbled, “Seems I have little choice if I want to keep you fragile fleshlings from injuring yourselves. I’ll also submit a list of restrictions within the facility since it appears your instincts to survive are limited.”He turned to leave, pausing to add, “This better not be a habit.”

You weren't sure if that referred to your assistant asking him to do something, or you getting into something you shouldn’t have, or maybe it was you sleeping beside one of his soldiers. There was a breach in professionalism, sure, but Sideswipe wasn’t your patient, that night. He was a friend in need.

You jumped as Holly stepped down and set her hand on your shoulder. She went from coolly proficient, to barefaced concern. “Please do not be so reckless. You still don’t know what they have in this building that could hurt you – even five years from now.”

You admitted, “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. Sideswipe was out of sorts, and I wasn’t thinking of anything else.”

Holly hummed with a kind smile, “ _Mon Dieu,_ your gentle heart will be the death of you.”

You returned a wan smile of your own and started up the steps with her. You handed the pill bottle back. “Speaking of, what tests were abnormal? Was my white blood cell count low?”

“No,” she said slowly, “there was evidence of radionuclides present within your blood, but no reduction to your WBC count. How have you been feeling? Vomiting? Gastrointestinal issues? Blisters on the skin? Sunburn-like rash?”

Your white blood cells were normal? Odd. _Very_ odd. You blinked as she rallied off the symptoms of acute radiation sickness, “I have a bit of a runny nose.”

“Either way, I sent for a scintillation counter. I want you to undergo an RAIU test. Alien radiation or not, we should take every precaution that we’re not exposing you or anyone else to whatever’s within this building.”

You agreed with a nod. _Alien radiation_. There was still so much unknown about these new allies, and even less on what lies past your atmosphere. You were no nuclear physicist, but you could surmise that there were ionized particles with unpronounceable names that lie in the great beyond. If your father was awake, he could weigh in with his knowledge. He would be interested in learning about a type of radiation that didn’t wreck your immune system, and depending on the radioactive iodine uptake test, you’d see how your thyroid gland was coping. He would probably be _furious_ you fell asleep with Sideswipe on that recharge slab, and not because you were probably pummeled with radiation most of the night.

He’ll be so proud of you when he wakes to find that you put everything right. Then, he’ll be so sorry he’d made you an unwitting accomplice of his criminal actions. Still, you wished he was here to yell at you.

Your assistant paused at the summit, stopping you a few steps behind so she was a head higher than you. She smoothed the frizzy fly-aways of your hair. “If you could, make time tonight. I’ll have to buy a box of dye to hide all these gray roots coming in, and you are much too young to be slouching like so.”

You feigned irritation and batted her hand away, but inwardly you appreciated her fussing over you like a maternal figure – despite her being younger than you. Still, you pushed past her as she hummed her musical laughter.

You didn’t have time to keep up appearances. So many other things were more important than a few stress-grays. _Like radiation_. You shelved that problem to panic over later, _after_ the tests. _One thing at a time_ , you told yourself, _one trauma at a time, please._

You parted ways with your assistant, posted up at a desk beside Doctor Jane White, and started going over a few files. She filled you in on the several baselines of the team, comparing them to Sunstreaker’s readings. That crazy theory of the alien consciousness growing and merging with Henri’s seemed more and more plausible.

Brains didn’t work that way, but current events weren't really following the norm, nowadays.

A few familiar Autobots entered the area, and you devoted your attention to watching Sunstreaker ascend the steps, wrapping up his conversation with Bumblebee and Sideswipe. The yellow Autobot, ever the gentlemech, proceeded to escort one of your staff around the facility with their Geiger counter, while Sideswipe stepped up by the railing.

He smiled at you, “Hi.”

Sunstreaker was already huffing by the time he reached the top of the loft. You blinked curiously, “Hello Sides. Do you need me for something?”

His smile faltered, “Oh, um, no, I don’t need anything. Just wanted to say _hi_. And to see how you’re doing. So, uh...hi, how are you doing?”

Your patient finally made it to you, throwing a glare over his shoulder at those awful stairs, and then looking at you enviously. _You_ didn’t seem to have a problem fielding that athletic feat. He was taken by surprise at your light and brief laughter. His brother was making a fool of himself, but you eased the tension by leaning casually on the railing.

“Things are a little rough, but I’m managing. How about you? Did you finally repair your lancer last night?”

Sideswipe bounced between excitement and concern, “Yes! You should totally come by and see it. But, rough – what's rough for you? Can I do something about it?”

“We’ll see. I’ll let you know,” You smiled genuinely, “What are your mission parameters today? Will I get to see you later, or will you be busy?”

Sunstreaker watched you quietly. _Primus, you were something special_. You were talking to his brother with that bright and interested look on your face. Like most of the times you would talk to him, like you _cared_. Sunstreaker was spoiled, sharing your living space. He appreciated those moments when you’d sit with him with that warm cup of coffee – he only liked that slag when you put the sweet stuff in, and you _always_ made it just right for him – and together, the two of you would sleepily share how one another slept, what thoughts kept you both awake, and what either of you looked forward to that day.

You and Sideswipe continued to babble on. How wonderful would it be to have you all to themselves every morning before work. To have you just _listen_. To have you _worry_ about them while they were gone. To have you fuss over them because you _cared_. Especially, to hear the things you thought about them, because you had the habit of being truthful.

Sunstreaker wasn’t entirely sure how seriously Sideswipe felt about you, but if they could find a Cybertronian like you? Even to just be friends? It would make the war a little more bearable.

“Thank you for stopping in to say _hi_ ,” You wrapped up the conversation, “I should hurry up and get Sunny’s initial vitals for the morning. I’m already far behind, today.”

Sideswipe gave a little wave as you started for the patient room with the blond following along. Sunstreaker accentuated your parting words with patronizingly flicking a dismissive hand towards the Autobot, who whispered, “Imma weld your ‘ _facing_ plate shut.”

“Better fraggin’ not –!"

“Sunny,” You were standing in the doorway, hurrying him in, “Let’s go. You’ve slowed me down enough, already.”

The bot-in-flesh protested, “I did _not_!”

Sideswipe grinned smugly, but wiped it clean at your scolding, “Sides, stop antagonizing.”

You grabbed your patient’s arm sleeve to guide him in the room, leaving the door open behind you as you were corralling this oppositional toddler-man to the medical bed.

“He’s being a glitch!” He complained with his typecast dramatics, “And you’re letting him, coddling him like a sparkling.”

He continued from his seat on the bed while you gathered everything you needed, listening with utmost amusement. “I take a little extra time to look nice – you haven’t even noticed my new helm, or plating – fabric – shirt, _whatever!_ Paint-Job gave me these things, and you never said you liked it.”

You calmly wheeled up with your stool, pulling out his arm and tying on a tourniquet for a blood draw, quietly letting him ramble on.

“But after all your complaining and hurrying, you take time to listen to Sides drone on about that stupid thermal lancer. What was that all about? You two amicas, now? Is this gonna be a regular thing? Why don’t you just have him come over and drive us every morning, maybe take the long way to work, and we’ll all just have a good time lookin’ at all the pretty things you like –" His words hitched, coming to terms with what he was saying, and amended very quickly, “Which is a stupid waste of time. Unless...?”

“Sunny?” You stopped him.

He slammed his mouth shut, furrowing his brows at you.

You sighed, seeing right through his tirade. Sunstreaker was getting easier and easier to see through, especially when he had that underlying smirk that told you he wasn’t being completely serious. You found his vein and proceeded to stick him with the needle, fixing the vial on the hub, _per usual_. You looked up at him from your brow. “You look very nice, today, but you would look nicer in your original body.”

The corner of Sunstreaker’s mouth quirked in a smirk. You said _exactly_ the right thing. He didn’t doubt you, but it didn’t stop him from asking, _from getting more_ , “You really think I have a nice frame?”

You focused on plugging in a new vial, filling the slots in the caddy. “You need me to tell you every day?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.” He glanced off, fishing, “Only if you meant it.”

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” You scoffed, finishing up and taping on gauze.

Sunstreaker knew the motions, pressing on the site to staunch that gross flow of fleshy-fluid. He watched you roll over and fetch that pressure-cuff that told you some inane function of this body. You were partially on autopilot, doing what became a daily routine you two shared. He imagined you, sparkly-eyed with a great admirable smile, sincerely telling him how beautiful he looked, _every morning_. It would mean something different, coming from you.

You wrenched him from his day-dream. “Did you have a good time seeing everyone?”

He jolted some, his face pinched and he shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, but... they don’t know how to act around me.”

You paused from sliding up the cuff, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not because of the meatsack I’m wearing, it’s because of what they saw –"

“I know,” you cut him off, “It’s because I wasn’t fast enough to stop Bethany from saying some pretty triggering stuff. I’m sorry. That was my fault.”

Sunstreaker frowned, “You’re being stupid.”

You let how tightly you strapped on the cuff express how you felt about his statement. He winced, “I mean, that’s a stupid thing to say. That whole thing wasn’t your fault.”

It was. Despite the one person who had every right to blame you for your shortcomings telling you otherwise, you felt it was completely your fault. The whole thing could have been prevented. If you weren't frozen by silly accusations, if you weren't held in place by this guilt of _feeling_ things for this alien, you could have moved faster, could have cut her off before she harmed your patient with those triggering words.

You pumped the cuff and charted the results, all the while winding down the precarious road of _I-should-haves_ and _what-ifs_. It was a terrible place to lose yourself in, but you were never truly lost. You’ve taken these roads and side streets numerous times. 

Sunstreaker took your hand before you turned away, forcing you out of your head. Your skin bumped up as he ran his thumb over the scabs of your knuckle. You stood, stark still, as his other hand came to press his palm flush against yours. His hand was slightly bigger, the fingers about an inch longer, but you couldn’t help but imagine holding your hand against a massive, metal one.

“There are so many things I’ll never understand.” His bright blue eyes were fixated where you two were connected. “Like, how you can just blame yourself so easily.”

You let him start inspecting your palm, like he didn’t have his own to look over. He traced the lines, and you wanted to accuse him of trying to read your fortune. You smiled wanly, “I’m supposed to be smart enough to see these things coming.”

“I’ve met scientists who couldn’t even see a _war_ coming,” he finally looked up at you, “being brilliant doesn’t mean you can see the future.”

Sunstreaker wanted his words to get through to you. He’s met soldiers of all kinds, loathing themselves for never seeing that ambush that took their friend. He saw that with you. A medic who couldn’t save them all. He hoped, whatever words didn’t make it through, that his touch would. He drew in your palm symbols you would never understand, but maybe your spark would – your _heart_ , whatever. _It was a silly notion, he was being stupid and sentimental._

“Thank you,” You said politely, pulling away. As much as you appreciated the effort, this way of thinking was ingrained deep into your psyche. Being told you’re brilliance was made for great things for most of your life made it so much harder to accept when things went wrong. You forced a smile, “I should get these samples running. You should stay in here, at least till after Beth shows up and leaves.” 

_Plump, pink, derma._ Sunstreaker grimaced, “Will she try to come in here?”

“Not while I’m standing,” You said with a little more force than intended. You hoped he didn’t notice, and you glanced over to check. He did. You cleared your throat, “I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m in charge. She apologized, and if she meant it, she’ll respect that you don’t want to see her.”

_Slender, long struts for cycles._ Seeing you get a little aggressive over him was a delightful reprieve, but he couldn’t get this bitter slag taste from his mouth. “And if she didn’t mean it?”

You hated that was everyone’s default, while you ate her apology up like an idiot. You worked your jaw a moment, blowing out a breath. If there was anyone who should know if there was a threat, it was the person with the biggest chance to end up on a vivisection table. You weren't going to defend her. You were going to consider all possibilities.

“Bethany was very convincing if she was deliberately lying to my face. I’m thinking back on everything she said, and I don’t know if everyone is being paranoid or if I’m too stubborn to admit that I was wrong.”

Sunstreaker gave you a hard look, silently urging you to share.

“It makes no sense. She said, _‘there's only so many people I can report to.’_ Does that sound like a threat to you? Why would she threaten me? So because it doesn’t make sense, that means I’m just being paranoid. Right? Beth wouldn’t do that. We were _family_. We were –"

He set his hand on your wringing ones. It stopped you, and the air hung tense for a beat. The Autobot’s brows creased as he started to realize just how sheltered you were from how terrible people could be. Knowing it would rub you the wrong way, he said, “I think you’re naïve.”

“Oh, _thanks_.” You spat, wrenching your hands away. You were getting a bit fed up with being insulted by your patient. More so, you were disappointed he didn’t give you some flowery words of encouragement.

He scoffed, “ _Pffft_ , I’m _sorry_ , did you want me to lie to you? Whatever camaraderie you had with her is long gone. This fleshling is completely different from what you remembered. You need to be on guard – _more_ on guard. You don’t know your enemy’s motivations, and that makes them so much more dangerous.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back and feigning a casual chuckle, “Enemy’s motivations? Is this a battlefield, now?”

“Yeah, it is,” He snapped, “And you’re my medic. You’re under fire, and I’m going to do everything I can to protect you.”

The involuntary reaction to feel offended was absent. _Painfully absent_. You felt a little strange, because anybody else who came along, treating you like a delicate flower in need of shelter, garnered annoyance. You knew he didn’t want to protect you because of your gender, but because you were a valuable member of the team. You said robotically, like you _should_ say it because that’s what you're _used_ to, “I can protect myself.”

You had a fire under that soft frame of yours that Sunstreaker admired. He chuckled, flashing a grin, “Primus, don’t I know it.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes to turn them anywhere other than that charming smile. “I’ll keep my guard up with her. Don’t worry. I’ll feed her some nonsense on why she can’t see you. I’m sure after yesterday, Holly is looking for a way to ban her completely from the facility. She’s allying with _Prowl_ , of all bots.”

You started laughing, and it died when you realized Sunstreaker wasn’t joining you. He was looking down at his hands with a scowl that made you question _what those hands did._

“Hey,” you called to him gently, “It’ll be okay.”

Sunstreaker glanced at you with uncertainty. If you were a bot, you would be _ideal_ , as a friend or even _more_ than that. There was so much about you that he genuinely liked, you vexed him in all the right ways, and you made one of the most important mechs in his life smile. So why did he feel for another? Why didn’t _you_ trigger this gross urge to mate? 

You asked, “What is it?”

Sunstreaker looked down again, and his face began to turn color from his cheeks to his ears. He couldn’t meet your gaze. “I don’t like what I feel when I see that fleshling female.”

Made sense. His painful episode was tied into Bethany. It was perfectly reasonable to associate her with _bad_. But there was something about his blush that made you say, “Explain.”

“I...this _body_ has a...reaction when I see her... _think_ of her.” He struggled, croaking out his words like coughing up grit that had the _worst_ taste.

The word _reaction_ floated around in your head, looking for something to connect to. You felt your face twist up as tightly as this knot in your stomach. “Reaction? Like a...” Your tone pitched hopefully, “ill...reaction?”

Sunstreaker winced, working this foul flavor of this fuel tank’s digestive fluids in his mouth. He didn’t understand it and he hoped you did. He hoped you could get him through this. “I don’t find organics appealing. They are... _revolting_. But...something about her...her hair, her skin, her legs, like a sleek and polished speedster with just the right amount of kibble. I can't look at her – _think_ about her – without... _feeling_ these sensations.”

Your mouth opened and just hung there. You didn’t know the reference of a _speedster_ or what _kibble_ indicated, but it was all coming together in heartrending clarity that Sunstreaker was feeling an _attraction_. You couldn’t explain the feeling you were experiencing. Was this what it felt like to be punched in the stomach?

You finally managed to close your mouth and with great effort, asked, “You’re experiencing...a sexual attraction?”

“ _Ugh_ ,” He gagged and covered his face, “I hate it. I hate it _so_ much. Things are so confusing. I hate that I always question whether these impulses are mine or this human I’m trapped in. If it was your sparkmate’s feelings, then it would be _you_! Why couldn’t it be –?”

Sunstreaker’s head snapped up, staring at you wide-eyed. _Why couldn’t it be you?_ How stupid of him. It’s not like you could reciprocate. You were bonded. It would probably be torture, since you were always so close, so _touchable._

“Okay,” You let out a deep and awkward breath. It was a good thing he wasn’t feeling an attraction towards you, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting hearing that _Bethany_ caught his eye. You were being silly, and you wished knowing that was enough to soothe this ache in your chest. You calmly smiled, “At least we know you’re still in control of your own mental faculties. We don’t want you confusing Henri’s feelings with your own.”

He took some comfort that you regarded this so clinically. You were right. You were _always_ right and he trusted you implicitly to make this all go away. You spoke like this was a good sign, but why did you look like someone killed your pet mechanimal? Sunstreaker tried his best to chuckle, to shrug it all off, “It’s still ridiculously disgusting. I just don’t understand. I shouldn’t feel _any_ attraction to a bloodbag. I hate this body. I don’t _want_ to feel like this.”

You knew _exactly_ what the root cause was. You patiently stated, “Bethany is pretty, and she shows it off. Despite your aversion to organics, in the end, you’re still a _man_. You’ll still feel things as a _man_. She's... she tends to accentuate features that are...desirable. As a man, you’re bound to have organic reactions.”

“I’m _not_ a man,” He snarled, “I’m a _mech_. I’m _not_ human. I refuse to accept these unwanted impulses. Get rid of them.”

The bawdy part of your brain was shoved into a supply closet before it could volunteer a way to _get rid of it_. The only thing you could think of doing was minimizing contact with Bethany to help his discomfort, but you were a little too eager to put that forth. You blinked. _Was this jealousy?_ Were you feeling _possessive_?

A cold feeling washed over the back of your neck, but it could have been the open door behind you that let in a breeze. This tiny voice asked a question that made you feel ashamed for even considering it. The unfeeling Scientist urged you to consider all possibilities, but that was absurd! You asked, if only to spite that pragmatic _bitch_ inside of you.

“You’re sure these are _your_ feelings?”

Sunstreaker's brows disappeared under the brim of his hat. He was totally taken by surprise you could have any doubt! His hands gesticulating all over the place like he was fending off a fly. “Are you kidding? You’re his pre-ritual conjunx, his bonded, or whatever you humans do – but there is no way these feelings are his. That wouldn’t make sense.”

That last line gave you pause. “They wouldn’t?”

“Once you're bonded, it’s for life,” He said, and each word came out a little slower than the last. You were bonded, for the _rest_ of your _life_. In Cybertronian culture, you were with your conjunx till death. Sparkmates weren’t chosen over a millennia and they weren’t chosen lightly. Once your spark was bonded, it was forever. Why would you think your sparkmate would betray you? That’s just unheard of.

Sunstreaker didn’t expect to feel bitter as he did, but he reminded you, “Your bonded loves you. These are my impulses, as disgusting as they are.” 

You felt ashamed, embarrassed, and everything in-between. Henri _loved_ you, and here you were feeling like dirt because the alien you had pining emotions for had _sensations_ for another. How terrible of you. What if it _was_ you? What would you do? Take advantage of Sunstreaker? _Cheat_ on the man you promised yourself to? You felt like a different kind of garbage.

“Thank you.” A faint blush brushed over your cheeks as you cast your eyes down in your lap. You missed him. You missed feeling loved and being _in_ love. So much so, that you developed feelings for your patient. You closed your eyes, feeling tears well behind your eyelids, “Sometimes, I need to hear that Henri loves me. I miss him, so much.”

Sunstreaker watched you and felt that fluid-pump beat against his chassis. How your face turned color, how you had the faintest smile, and how it was plain to see you were very much devoted to your weak sparkmate. It stung. He lived for millions of years, had lovers, but not a one had that look about them, that they were so deeply in love that it hurt.

He weaved his fingers in yours. Your bleary eyes opened slowly and found his. He wore a sad smile, “As much as I want my body back, you deserve to have the things that make you happy.”

You huffed out a surprised chuckle, “Well, that’s something coming from you.”

“If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it to the grave.”

“ _Ahem_.”

You jerked your hands away, whirling around to face the door you _left open_. Doctor Jane White was standing there awkwardly as Patricia peeked her head around the doorframe. You felt the color pale from your face. _How long were they standing there? What all did they hear?_

“Ma’am,” Doctor Patricia McSwain began quietly, “Uh, there's –"

“Eve!” You heard Alan bellow before barreling through the doorframe, “T-minus fuckin’ _now_! The team _just_ broke atmosphere.”

The team? The _team_! The Autobot medical team that you so desperately needed! Sunstreaker barked some garbled exclamation before throwing himself off the bed and yanking you up from your stool. You stumbled at first, eventually finding your footing and following Alan. He line-backered his way through the people and fielded the steps down two at a time. You announced to your busy staff to drop what they were doing with a sharp whistle, and like good little ducklings, they came filing in.

It must have been quite the spectacle to see a herd of humans trample their way through the facility, as mechs as tall as buildings moved aside. You swore one squealed.

Outside, you immediately searched the overcast sky, feeling others bump into you as they did the same. You sidelined to Sunstreaker, “Will Omega have issues landing?”

He heard from his brother and a few others who was the pilot, and he couldn’t _wait_ to see the look on your face. “Omega Supreme isn’t bringing them. Too small of a team to ferry for the amount of fuel he consumes.”

“They’re bringing a spaceship – ah, an _ark_?” You were glancing between him and the skies.

He smirked at you, “You’ll see.”

You heard a few awe-struck noises and fastened your eyes skyward. Something was coming down through the clouds. Everyone around you – bot and human alike – began applauding.

“‘bout fucking...time...?” Alan began with his usual barking gusto, but it died along with the clapping from your people. He voiced with an incredulous pitch, “Is that a gah-damn _dragon_?!”

Your breath left your body like a cartoon ghost. Your eyes watered as they fixated on this shuttle – but it wasn’t a shuttle. It looked very much like a _god damn dragon_ with its long neck and jet-wings.

Sunstreaker whispered in your ear, and you convinced yourself that’s not what made your knees tremble. “That’s Sky Lynx.”

Sky Lynx’s thrusters roared and tilted as he angled himself. It didn’t do much to slow his descent as he came in hot, landing so hard the pavement turning up around his clawed feet and the ground tremored. You could hear the hissing from steam and smoke that poured from his body, sparks arced from between his plating, and the sounds of some mechanical grinding told you he wasn’t in the best of shape.

He didn’t behave like he was injured. He stood proudly, raising his head on that long swan neck. More squealing and grinding noises split the air as his chest opened, drawing down like an off-ramp. “Another luxurious, _and expeditious_ , flight delivered by yours truly. I know it’ll be difficult, but you can't stay in there.”

A stark difference from Omega Supreme’s monosyllabic speech pattern. Your brows touched the heavens. An Autobot as massive as the sentinel himself, but incredibly articulate. Mechs started clustering around to greet those that disembarked. You looked eagerly between the long-necked dragon-bot and Sunstreaker.

He peered with faux-irritation, “What? _What_ is it? Stop bouncing like a sparkling.” 

You pointed over at the newcomers with a big dorky smile, “I _have_ to meet him.”

“Sky Lynx? No, you don’t,” He scoffed, “He thinks he’s the greatest. Never stops talking about where he’s been. It gets annoying.”

“Does it?” You quipped, “Sounds familiar.”

Sunstreaker feigned a mock-chuckle before unexpectedly holding your hand. “Just wait. You go over there right now, you’ll just get stepped on.”

“I got malfunctions and damages across the board,” Sky Lynx announced, “I haven’t been this burned up since I held the line when Metroplex –"

“We have medics and engineers on standby,” Prowl cut him off, stepping forward to greet the four that came down the ramp.

You craned your head from side to side, trying to get a good view of the newcomers. The _team_! If you weren’t tethered, you would have wandered closer. Sunstreaker squeezed your hand at the sight of them. He was relieved to see familiar faces – _trustworthy_ faces.

Four different mechs, each looking somewhat of a similar build, but to the trained eye, they had different alt-mode frames. You immediately picked out the jet-type – _because jet!_ He was similarly colored as the obviously large-vehicle framed bot, nearly having the same helm type with those attractive chevrons. Did their similar colors and patterns denote employment, rank, or a relationship?

Your eyes crawled over the strange car-framed mech with the _incredibly_ interesting face. He wore a wide faceplate, which you were used to, but the glassy fins that splayed out from the sides of his helm lit and flashed while he spoke to Prowl. _That was new!_ Then you fixated on the mysterious cherry-plated mech with a... _cannon_ on his shoulder? He didn’t have any of the familiar parts that would make a car or aircraft. No treds to allude to a tank-mode. You hadn’t the faintest of what that plate on his chestpiece was for.

Sunstreaker’s chuckle pulled you from your stupor. You were literally at the end of your chain. His arm and yours were completely extended, and he even braced himself as you were trying to _pull_ him across the way. You laughed shyly, letting him reel you back in. He released your hand, leaned in, and muttered in your ear, “I cannot wait to get in my body.”

_And see you look at me the same way_ , Sunstreaker thought.

You looked back out at the crowd that now gathered around the four, exchanging greetings. “Do you know them?”

“Know them? Those are the best minds of the galaxy.” He smiled, and it was a real smile of relief. “Wheeljack is an engineering genius. Perceptor literally _makes_ science do what he wants. Ratchet can repair t-cogs while in recharge, and Pharma can –"

“Pharma?” You chirped, “There’s someone named _Pharma_?”

Sunstreaker said, “Yeah, what of it?”

“Pharma,” You repeated, “Like, pharmacy, or pharmaceuticals?”

His brows furrowed, “No. Pharma, like _Pharma_.”

“But the name sounds like part of a word.”

“No, the name sounds like a _name_ ,” He scoffed, “Stop being weird.”

There were still so many things about Cybertronian culture you’d never get. You let it go with a sigh, returning to watch Jetfire greet the cherry-plated mech warmly. First Aid was shaking hands with those of the same colors as him, and you instantly tied the word _medic_ to those two red and white mechs. Some supplies of their own were unloaded from Sky Lynx as Hoist began seeing to his complaints.

It took an insurmountable amount of self-discipline to stay put and stay _quiet_. You wanted to meet these scientists and medics. The Scientist in you jittered and nagged. She wanted to meet them, to pick their brains, and learn everything she could _now_. You drowned her out as you turned to your nervous team.

Turns out, they felt more comfortable being up _high_ in the lab where they didn’t feel like a wad of gum waiting to be stepped on. With instructions for them to remain on standby, you dismissed the group and they readily scurried back. Alan and his team, on the other hand, were bravely scouting ahead at the new alien equipment that was being ferried in. They comfortably weaved around the Autobot’s footsteps like snooping mice, finding their curiosity was stronger than their fear.

You felt Sunstreaker take your hand again, lacing his fingers in yours. You figured he was seeking emotional support, but when he tugged on you for your attention, you turned and realized one of those new Autobots was _coming your way_. It was the red and white mech, the one that appeared to have a vehicle alt-mode. Your eyes ate up his broad, glassy chest that proudly displayed his Autobrand. They traveled up to his white spikes that stood stark against his reddish helm and then to those bright alien optics. 

He halted several feet from you, far enough away to see you clearly, and probably to come off as less threatening. He glanced back at Prowl, who confirmed with an incline of his head. The medi-bot peered at the both of you, “Which one is Sunstreaker?”

Your patient didn’t offer an answer, instead substituting for a weak introduction, “Eva, that’s Ratchet. Ratchet, this is Eva.”

“I thought the name was Evalyn Morgan, titled _Doctor_ Morgan, according to Prowl.” His voice was aged and smooth, sometimes tailing off with a bit of gravel and huskiness that whispered _silver fox_ to that near-microscopic lewd part of your brain.

“Whatever you please. Either is fine.” You cleared your throat and thoughts. “A pleasure, Ratchet. I’m confident Prowl filled you in on what we’re up against. My team and I are at the ready to assist in any way we can. I hope, together, we can get Sunny to where he needs to be.”

“She calls you _Sunny_...?” He canted his head to give an inquiring look at your patient. “Any particular reason you got a hold on her?”

Sunstreaker suddenly released your hand to cross his arms. He huffed, “Don’t read too much into it. She likes to get close and touchy. I’m just keeping her from getting all up in your gears.”

“Hey!” You pealed in defense, “I get curious! It’s _normal_! Don’t ruin my first impression!”

You straightened at the sound of digitized chuckling. You turned your attention back outwards to see the other three begin their way towards you. The one with the lights on the sides of his helm was laughing.

“Is that her?”

“Introductions later. We need to get started immediately.” Prowl flanked them, ushering them inside the building.

Ratchet bent down to address you with a low voice, “Don’t worry about first impressions. A lot of us had heard much about you. It’s gotten out what you're doing for one of us. You’ve already made an impression, even on the ones who’ve never met a human.”

You couldn’t form words, only tried to sort whether you felt bashful or proud. It’s been too long since you felt pride, you might not even know what it feels like, anymore. You had a sentient alien race talk about you, and hopefully, it was in a positive light. To imagine your name being dropped light-years away made you want to laugh. Not a happy _ha-ha_ type, but more _questioning reality_ kind of maniacal cackling.

_Oh God, did Jazz talk about you? What was said about you? What KIND of impression!?_

“I know you’ve been doing all you can to help one of our own, and I’m not one for sentimentality, but I believe a _thank you_ in is order.” He turned his side to you, about to join the rest of his crew, “Now, after we settle in, I look forward to seeing what you have on the matter.”

You nodded dumbly, watching him leave. Something about this seemed so _venerable_ , but you couldn’t pinpoint why. These Autobots were the elite of their field, coming here to fix your mess and they _thanked_ you. In the end, the questionable feelings of pride faded to shame. You didn’t feel like you deserved gratitude. You hadn’t accomplished much of anything at all.

You felt his heavy hand on your shoulder, then turned to Sunstreaker with a conflicted glint to your eye. He raised a questioning brow, then pursed his lips impishly, “You look stupid right now.”

You scoffed, “ _You’re_ stupid.”

He snorted with a knowing grin, and you both retreated inside. You remained along the wall, as the hallway was busy with the more dangerous kind of foot traffic. Eventually, you returned to the life-support room and scaled the steps to your open-area laboratory and posted up against the railing, waiting.

Everyone was skittering about, making sure they had everything at the ready, but you just watched these new four mech review what Jetfire and First Aid provided them. Ratchet was already poring over the alien data at the terminal beside Sunstreaker’s frame. The medic paused to look at the body, but it wasn’t through the eyes of a professional.

Your heart wrung along with your hands. _They weren’t just coworkers. They’re friends._

Sunstreaker leaned against the railing beside you, arms crossed with his usual frown. He was completely focused on the goings-on ahead, and the jitters causing him to drum his fingers, tap his foot, was a burning beacon to all. “How much longer are they going to take?”

“They _just_ landed,” You said, despite sharing his impatience, “let them get their bearings.”

“They _have_ bearings,” He rolled his eyes, “ _Primus_ , personal much?”

“I...what?” You shook your head, “Never mind. Just wait.”

“I’ve _been_ waiting,” He said, “I need to know if they can fix me. If they can't, that’s it. I'm stuck here.”

This really was the end run. This was the last level, the last castle, and the princess damn well better be in there. You offered a sympathetic rub of his shoulders. “If they can’t fix you, I’ll keep searching. I’m not giving up.”

Sunstreaker didn’t doubt you, but between the ramping anxiety and the waiting – _the waiting!_ – he didn’t hide the bitterness coating his words, “Yeah. You have more at stake, now.”

Your response would have been on par with arguing, but you knew him. _You knew Sunstreaker_ , and he was scared. That was his thing, he got unpleasant when he was afraid. You pulled on his arm to get him to look at you. When he did, his bright eyes confirmed exactly what you suspected.

You rubbed between his shoulders, trying to come off as calm and casual. “A lot more. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

He _hated_ this. _By Cybertron_ , you were almost perfect with those things you’d say. Did you talk to your sparkmate like this? Your friends? Or was it just Sunstreaker? You were so...encouraging, so soothing, and he believed you. But was this his feelings, or this bloodsack’s? He hated that he doubted these feelings as his own, but _Primus take him_ did he love the feeling of your hands touching him. _That_ , he knew for sure was him. He swallowed and averted his gaze.

You smiled patiently, “Let’s hold off on the doom and gloom and wait till they review everything. Okay?”

He responded thickly, “Fine.”

You turned your attention back out at the room, finding Ratchet was watching you. You held eye contact long enough to count three heartbeats before he resumed looking over his datapad. Whatever he saw, and whatever he was thinking, you would nervously mull over for exactly the amount of time it would take for you to realize you’d been holding your breath.

“You’ve had ample time to familiarize yourself with the setup,” Prowl announced to his fellow bots, then to you and the rest of the humans in the room, “Pay attention. I’m only doing this once.”

The Autobot Commander proceeded with introductions. You’ve already met Ratchet briefly, but you learned he was titled Chief Medical Officer. The jet-framed of similar colors was Pharma, a medical officer in his own right. The one with the mouth plate and helm-fins that lit with each word was Wheeljack. Lastly, the cherry-plated mech of questionable alt-mode was Perceptor. Prowl curtly gestured your way.

“This is the human medical scientist you were all briefed on, Doctor Morgan.” He glanced over your team, “The others are...her workers. It doesn’t matter, you’ll be working with Doctor Morgan, mostly.”

“She also responds to _Eva_ ,” Ratchet added.

“Eva? Like evacuate? Or evasion?” Wheeljack asked.

“No, Eva like _Eva_.”

“Doctor Eva?” Perceptor asked.

“I thought it was Doctor Morgan. Where did _Morgan_ come from?” Pharma inquired.

Sunstreaker palmed his brow as your eyes bounced between the bots.

“Any of those are fine,” You desperately wanted to move on, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Ah, likewise,” Perceptor nodded, stealing a few steps closer to lean in. His optics flickered as he inspected both you and Sunstreaker, “I can't wait to hear how a Cybertronian consciousness inhabited an organic form. I’ve never seen or heard of anything of the like. How fascinating.”

That triggered the Scientist in you, and you wrestled her back down. Agreeing would be in poor taste while you stood beside the victim. You meandered to one of the computers, announcing, “Should we begin? We are linked to that terminal along the wall. If you would please direct yourselves to the screen.”

It must have been an impressive display – it should be, you rehearsed it enough – as you carried on eloquently. Your computer monitor mirrored the images hailed on the Autobot terminal. You began with the cleaned-up video image _that Simmons didn’t have_ of the energon being loaded into the facility, and of the explosion. Seeing your body in the midst of it all on the footage, getting electrocuted with an untold number of volts, you fell more into the Scientist role and disassociated yourself. It was a tried and true method that helped you cope.

You continued with your patient’s reports on seeing fragments of the previous consciousness that inhabited the organic brain. You displayed brain scans and the abnormalities that followed. You closed the presentation with the theorized risks. Be it completely fictional or not, you weren't leaving anything to chance.

Perceptor looked long and hard at the enlarged scans of the organic brain, pointing. “This is previous to the incident?”

“Yes,” You confirmed, “and the others are myself and a few from my staff, for comparison. You can see how his are different. A comatose brain is not as active, whereas ours are in the average range. But you look at Sunstreaker's current images, they are very abnormal, obviously.”

“An organic brain-module...” Pharma looked over his shoulder at the screen, “And you’re saying this growth is not, let’s say, an evolutionary feat? Do you, ah, _humans_ , experience simultaneous rapid upgrading?”

You shook your head, “We do not experience such advancements. That makes this situation increasingly urgent. I want to...” The Scientist’s skin you wore slipped, and you desperately tried to hold it in place, “I want to preserve as much of the original consciousness as possible. Sunstreaker must be removed before any damage is deemed irreversible, to either patient.”

You felt Sunstreaker’s eyes on you for a moment, but you continued to hold your head high while addressing the Autobots. You had to look competent, strong, and rational.

“We need to address something else,” Prowl spoke, waiting till he had everyone’s undivided attention before announcing, “This is a covert mission, as you have been informed. Doctor Morgan is breaking her people’s law by assisting us. She is currently committing a number of crimes, punishable by incarceration –"

“Not just her, Fuzz-bot.”

You were secretly grateful for Alan’s interruption. It was difficult hearing yourself being referred to as a _criminal_. He began fielding the steps up to your lab, saying, “Every human bean you see here is risking a fuck-ton to help _you_. All of us are breaking the law.”

You heard Perceptor murmur to Ratchet, “Did he say human _bean_? Have we been saying it wrong? Did Prowl misspell on the datapackets?”

“Don’t sound so resentful. We understand perfectly the danger you’re putting yourselves in,” Wheeljack said with gentle diplomacy, “and we’re all very grateful –"

“You’re _gratefulness_ won’t keep my friends from getting bent over.” Alan reached the top and continued down along the railing, talking as if he was as tall as them. “I need you all on the same page as us. You need to _lie_ to protect us. It’s real fuckin’ important you get that shit engraved in your motherboard before you geek out on this bullshit.”

Everyone was quiet a moment until Ratchet turned to Prowl, “This was the guy you mentioned?”

“Unfortunately, yes –"

“Technical Engineer Alan Faireborn,” He announced himself like he was about to enter the wrestling ring. He even put on a show by throwing his arms out wide. “And you’ll also be working with me. Eve and I, we’re a package deal, kinda like the Wonder Twins from Super Friends.”

“No, we’re not.” You cringed at the comparison. 

“I set up her machines and I’ll be linking them with your weird-ass alien shit.” He laughed, and it was _sinister_. “You _need_ me.”

_God help us all_ , it was the truth. No one else was as gifted as Alan.

Pharma pinched the bridge of his nose. “Eve? I thought her name was Eva.”

“Doctor Morgan,” Prowl corrected.

“How many names can one human have?” Perceptor muttered, “Is it a status symbol, or...?”

You rubbed your temples and sighed, hearing Sunstreaker groan from the other side of you. It was obvious Cybertronian and Human names were vastly different, hence why you always gave them the name _Eva_. It was short, simple, and you didn’t have to explain what a surname was, nor did you have to explain why _of Pennsylvania_ or _of Earth_ wasn’t part of your name.

You peeked up while Wheeljack chuckled good-naturedly, “Technical engineer? We might be working together, often. When should we get started?”

Ratchet butted in, “First, let’s go over with Prowl with how we should handle this situation. We want to make sure our new human allies will remain safe, should anything occur between them and their government justice system.”

He tilted his head in your direction and gave a curt nod. You smiled appreciatively and nodded right back. _Respect_. You were starting to like that medic. Agreements were passed about, and before Prowl could get started, Bluestreak poked his head in.

“Hey, Eva. That yellow-headed woman is here, asking for you.”

“Ugh,” Alan griped, “Go punt her like a football.”

“Thank you, Blue,” You said, your polite, plastic smile a bit too bright, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, I know you will,” The Autobot said under his chuckle, ducking back out, but not before giving Ratchet a quick wave.

You felt every limb of yours gain twenty pounds, and it took more effort than it should to turn to Alan, “You got that report to her, right?”

“Last night,” He grunted, “I am _more_ than happy to deal with her. Just keep Holly on a leash.”

“No, just...” You huffed, turning from one spot to the next before finally ending at Sunstreaker. He stared at you, pale and stark still. There was a slight shake to his head, and you motioned him to remain calm. You spun back on your heel to face Alan, “Beth is to have _no_ contact with Sunny. _Ever_.”

You expected the tattooed tech to ask questions, maybe even rib you a little, tease you on how you looked _jealous_. Instead, he crossed his lean and colorful arms. “Got it.”

He probably was looking for an excuse to throw Bethany out on her ass, more than anything else. You accepted his answer and twisted to search Sunstreaker’s face for any sense of relief. He was scowling, maybe a little insulted that you practically just hired a bodyguard. It was more than that, though. _He didn’t want you going out there, at all_.

“I’ll be back,” You said.

Sunstreaker averted his eyes when his expression softened. “Don’t take long.”

You didn’t intend to, but you wouldn’t make any promises. You didn’t respond, and began your long journey out of the Autobot facility. You formulated plans on how you should tell her, _Sunstreaker is busy, you can’t see him_ , but this bitter, envy-green, part of you just wanted to flat-out say _No. He doesn’t want to see you. Ever._ How childish was that? To be jealous over someone when you had _no right_ to feel so possessive over them. It was for the best that he didn’t feel attracted to you.

You finally made your way outside, spotting Bethany leaning against her car. You continued in her direction, noticing her puffing out a cloud between her lips as her wide eyes were fixated on Sky Lynx in the distance. The giant mech was hunkered down, regaling those who worked on his repairs. As you approached, Bethany pointed at him.

“What the _fuck_ is that?”

“Don’t even bother.” You shrugged, “He’s only a giant dragon-machine, pay no mind.”

Bethany clicked her tongue as she exhaled a stream of smoke, turning her attention to a few mechs moving large metal crates along the side of the building.

The words tolled in your head, _is she manipulating me?_ Was she fooling you? Was Alan right? Was Sunstreaker right? That she was no longer your comrade? Your _friend?_ It was becoming such an old, tired word. _Friend_. Since when had the meaning of it changed? Since when has everything changed without you looking?

You admired her knee-length, high-waisted skirt that accentuated her curves, and her long purple blazer. You smirked inwardly. The Autobots weren’t much of a fan of purple. Her hair fell in perfect curls, and her makeup was spotless. You couldn’t even see the bruise you left. She was all dolled up, maybe because she was expecting to _meet someone_. You tapped down the giddy feeling of squashing her expectations. _You were better than that_.

This conversation wasn’t about to start itself. You began casually, “I thought you quit.”

“I did, for a bit.” She took a deep drag.

You recalled the events after Henri’s accident, right before she left. She was refusing cigarettes, and she said it was because she was so distraught – which was weird. All smokers you knew, during a stressful event, lighting one up was the first thing they craved. You wrote it off, stress can do weird things to the body, you supposed.

You moved on to a different subject. “Alan said he sent you the reports, last night. How were they?”

Bethany exhaled, breathing out the words in a cloud of smoke, “As much of an asshole as he is, he’s damn good at his job. I couldn’t find one thing to complain about, and trust me, I looked.”

You stifled a cough, moving to post upwind from her and lean on the car door beside her, “At least you admit you were trying to be a pain.”

“Anything to be a thorn in his side,” She grinned at you with those painted pink lips, “He doesn’t deserve to have it easy.”

You peered, “You realize everything he’s done is all to bring back _Henri_ , right?”

“Always taking his side,” The blonde rolled her eyes at you, “You would think you were in _love_.”

You crammed down on the initial reaction to defend yourself. Instead, you calmly noticed how she searched yours for a reaction. _She was baiting you_. But why?

“You really need to stop saying things of that nature,” You said with a forced smile, and it must have looked off, because Bethany leaned away cautiously.

“I’m just teasing you,” She said with an apologetic edge.

“I know, but anyone else overhearing you won’t think so,” You explained, “it’s already tough for someone like me to be head of a department. People immediately think I got here either riding on my dad’s coat-tails, or I got through my internship riding _something else_. I worked hard to get here without compromising myself. You should understand the challenges I face, of not being taken seriously.”

Bethany scoffed, “Of course I do.”

“Alright, so I need you to stop.” You said firmly, and when she didn’t indicate that she comprehended, you reiterated, “I’m _telling_ you to _stop it_.”

“Fine,” She scoffed, taking another drag, “no more fun. Got it.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” She ventured, glancing away before looking to you hopefully, “Have you talked to that, uh, guy? Sun- Sun...shine?”

“Sunstreaker,” You corrected, and answered so smoothly, it didn’t sound like your voice, “The Autobot science team had just arrived, and he’s currently busy.”

Bethany remained determined. “What about later?”

“He might be tired.”

“I won’t take long,” She pushed under a casual guise.

You said, “No, not today.”

The blonde peered at you, “It’s just an apology.”

“Is it?” You said cuttingly, patience thinner than cellophane.

Bethany’s eyes turned sharp as she frowned. Her posture changed, and she squared her shoulders and straightened her spine to gain a little height on you, all so she could look down at you.

You added strongly, “He doesn’t want to see you.”

There was something so satisfying about saying that, and you refused to explore _why_. You focused on the woman who held her cigarette like she was posing for a fashion magazine.

Bethany had a slight curl to her lip, sneering, “I think you _want_ to let me talk to him.”

Something in you clicked. It was the sound of the Scientist within, switching on a big overhead projector. The subject matter? Psychology and the facial/body cues present during deception. _Bethany was now your patient_.

You stood to get a better vantage of your new subject. She was rigid, like a dog with its hackles raised. She was trying to look bigger, intimidating. You stated calmly, “Obviously for more than just an apology.”

“You said Alan talked to him,” She said with a speck of hysteria, “Who’s to say he’s not trying to put in that alien’s head on what happened that night? I have a right to ask him what he remembers, and to set the story straight.”

Bethany stood, and her stance was wide. _Defensive posture_. Her arms were partially crossed, save for the hand that held her neglected cigarette. _Attempting to self soothe_.

You held your elbow and you touched your chin, like you would while staring at calculations. “Sunstreaker has only mentioned the single time Alan asked him of that night. He would have told me if more had happened, since.”

“How do you know he’s not lying?”

“What would my patient have to gain by lying?” You posed the question, “Sunstreaker has no stake in my, or Henri’s, personal affairs. I _guarantee_ the only thing that Cybertronian is thinking about is getting out of that body, and getting off this planet. He literally cares about _nothing_ else.”

That last sentence sounded strange to say, because you weren’t entirely sure that was true. He may have cared about you, but only because you were a replacement. Things would change once he was back in his original body.

Bethany’s defensive stance shifted to aggressive as she took a step forward towards you, crowding you. _Intimidation_. She poked your chest with the cigarette between her fingers, the smoke swirling up your nose. “I think _you_ don’t care about anything else other than that alien _freak_!”

_Deflection_. Your new subject was attempting to throw you off. You didn’t flinch as the smoke made your eyes sting. You asked coolly, “Was your apology genuine, yesterday?”

She stole a step back and leaned away just enough to impart that she was putting distance between you. _Defensive_.

You pressed, “The statement, ‘ _you only have so many people to report to’_ , was that a threat?”

“It was a fact,” She snapped.

_Careful_ , you thought, _cornered animals bite._ You regarded her pragmatically; she was a human, not an animal. Animals defend themselves because their survival requires it. Why is Bethany so defensive? What aspect of her survival requires her to bare her teeth at you?

_You don’t know your enemy’s motivations, and that makes them so much more dangerous._

You boldly called her bluff, “Then report me. I’m not going to let you see Sunstreaker. I’m not going to let you interrogate him on a memory that’s not his. You want to know what happened that night? So does everyone else. You’ll just have to wait till I sort this whole mess out. If you don’t like that, then _report me_ and derail this whole operation.” 

Bethany glanced off towards the open road leading out to the forest. _Seeking an escape_. Her eyes flitted from yours as she finally brought the half spent cigarette to her mouth, taking a deep breath. _Buying time_.

“What do you _want_?” You asked, and it wasn’t a professional question submitted for study. There was feeling behind it.

“You _let_ me leave,” She hissed, “You _never_ chased after me. I waited an entire _month_ for you to call me, and you never did! I left a forwarding address and you never wrote me! You let me go!”

_Sudden change in subjects._ Was she trying to deflect you again? Try to throw you off with this _childish bullshit_? You felt your face pinch incredulously. You spoke slowly for her benefit, “ _You_ were the one who left.”

“You didn’t take my side!” She let that imposing image of hers fall, “You let Alan tell you he didn’t call Henri, and you _believed_ him! I was your best friend!”

Your brows furrowed. _This again_. You sighed wearily, repeating, “Alan said he didn’t _remember_ calling him. There are no _sides_ , Bethany. There’s only a single goal. Either you’re helping, or you’re not, and that’s all that matters, now.”

She huffed and covered her face, inadvertently ashing on her shirt. You gave her this moment to collect herself, but when she lowered her hand, she gazed at you with bleary blues, “I made a mistake. I couldn’t sleep last night. I just kept thinking about Henri coming back and you telling him that I wanted to take him off life support. I don’t want him to think I gave up. I just...thought it was the right thing to do, and I... I thought I was helping.”

All anger left you. Things were never a simple shade of black and white. Henri was her friend, and she was only doing what she thought was right. That didn’t make her evil. That made her _human_. You filled with this aching nostalgia, wanting to reach out and hug her as you had before everything fell apart. Everyone was hurting all around you, and it was an easy way to make you forget your own pains.

Bethany leaned back on the car, flicking her cigarette and pinching the bridge of her nose with a shaking hand, “I thought you were a monster for wanting to keep him alive. What if he was suffering? What if he was in pain this entire time? I thought I was helping, but you looked at me like _I_ was the monster. I honestly believed you were being cruel and selfish, but maybe I was.”

“He is my fiancé,” You said softly, leaning on the car door beside her, “You told me to _kill_ my fiancé. You had to of understood how hard that was for me.”

Her eyes went skyward, “Henri was my...how Al was always to you, Henri was to me. All three of you were my friends, but he showed me not all guys were jerks or nerds. I never knew I could be friends with a guy who wasn’t in it just to get his dick wet. He treated me like a _person_.”

He would. Henri was the kind of guy who didn’t have sex on the brain constantly, and always treated people like _people_. To imagine that athletic nerd as a skirt-chaser was laughable. But as a result, neither of you was fairly experienced in the bedroom, nor as adventurous, much to your woe. You eagerly thought of something else to occupy your mind.

You traced Bethany’s profile as she stared at the clouds. For a girl who relied on her looks, who put so much pressure on herself to be perfect, she never really had anyone just appreciate her for _her_. You loved her for so many different reasons, and it was never because of how flawless she tried to appear. Henri wouldn’t have been any different, valuing her as a friend, because deep down she really was a _good person_.

Your gaze wandered to the interior of her Porsche through her open window. Spotless. Probably a rental, if she flew in from the other side of the continent. Still, it was a nice car, but not as nice as Jazz’s alt-mode. Your attention was drawn to a tab of paper jutting out from the visor, and you curiously reached in and pulled it out. It was a Polaroid.

Your eyes widened.

It was a photo of a _child_. It was a little girl, open mouth grinning at the camera. You weren’t well-versed with kids, but she was maybe around three or five? Her wispy blonde hair was done up in a ribbon, her mouth was smeared with red lipstick, and those big blue eyes were raccoon-circled with pink eye-shadow.

“Yeah, she got into my makeup.”

Your eyes darted back and forth between Bethany’s prideful smile and this photo of _A KID!_ Words were trying to evolve past simple vowels as you stuttered. Your face split with a smile so wide, your eyes watered. “Bethy...is she...?”

“That’s my little Josie,” she practically glowed, “That’s my baby girl.”

“She looks so much like you,” You blurted thoughtlessly, “I didn’t know you were married,”

“I’m not,” she said dryly, then snorted, “You don’t quite follow the traditional mold. I thought you’d understand and not judge.”

“I don’t,” you reeled, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Do you...uhh, nuh-nevermind –"

“Do I know who the father is?” Bethany sucked her teeth, “It doesn’t matter. I had to raise her on my own. I’m the mother and the father. Mama brings home the bacon, and cooks it, too.”

You laughed, looking over this little girl. She was cute, if not a little messy. You remembered playing with your dad’s stethoscope, more than you played with your mom’s makeup. “Is she here?”

“No, she’s with my parents back in Oregon. They got a nice place to retire to, in the country. Josephine loves visiting Mi-ma and Paw-paw,” Bethany giggled, sentimentally touching the photo in your hand, “She’s a real tomboy. Getting into the mud and grabbing bugs. My mom saves all the peanut butter jars because she likes sticking things in them. I think I might have a little scientist.”

You were smiling so much, your cheeks started to ache. You handed the picture to her, “Congratulations. I mean it. I’m happy for you.”

“I know you never wanted children,” she held it, gazing at her daughter with a loving expression only a mother would have, “but...I want her to meet Henri and you.”

“Just because I never felt the _need_ to have kids, doesn’t mean I hate them,” Your shrugged, indulging in planning ahead, “After this whole thing is over, yeah. I would love to meet her.”

She said, “You two could teach my little Josie so much. I have a feeling she’s gonna be smarter than her mama. She must’ve got it from her father.”

_Whoever he is_. You imagined a failed relationship that was still a very difficult subject. Or maybe she was the result of her mother working her way to her _esteemed_ position at Blackrock Enterprises – but that was incredibly rude to assume, don’t assume _that_. You were better than that.

She turned her bleary blues on you, “I don’t know if you’d understand, but all I’ve ever wanted was a perfect family. Instead, I have a father trying to match me with men twice my age, and a mother that calls my daughter a bastard under her breath. I _need_ you, Eevee.”

Bethany rubbed her eyes before locking them back on yours, “Promise me you’ll bring back Henri, no matter what. We’ll get everything sorted, we can all be one big, happy, family.”

_A bit intense, but okay._ A little taken aback, you said, “How much more incentive do I need? I’m going to fix this. I’m going to bring Henri back.”

"Good." She turned her gaze back on the photo. “Do you think Henri would want to meet her? Do you think he would like her?”

The little girl was probably lacking a father figure in her life, and you could easily see your fiancé filling that uncle-type role. An interesting day-dream played out in your head, of everything turning out perfectly. You and Henri would be together again, Bethany and Alan would resolve their differences and go back to being friends. There would be those weekend barbeques with that little scamp running around, _and hell_ , let’s add in Bluestreak fussing over the girl’s skinned knees and muddy face, because why would you cut ties with your new and strange friends? 

You chuckled, “Yeah, I think he would. He liked kids.”

“I know he did,” she smiled at you.

The air around you shifted. You didn’t like how there was a bizarre feeling that welled deep in your gut. It was the same feeling of walking through a store, and realizing it was suddenly absent of people. It was the same as feeling a cold draft, but knowing all the windows were closed. It was that sinking sensation of turning your car key, and the engine didn’t turn over on the first try. It was just an all-around _harrowing_ feeling you couldn’t explain.

Bethany’s smile was off, and it unnerved you so much more than it should have, and you didn’t know _why_.

You caught onto the sound of an engine. Your head snapped to that narrow opening between the forest trees. Your face grew cold and clammy as everything from before seemed so far away, and so much smaller.

It was a black van. It was Government Agent, Lead Investigator, Seymour Simmons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What the FUCK is this shit!?”  
> A wrench went flying through the air and landed against a little metal wall. The word *little* may not be appropriate. The Autobots were able to step over it, but it was high enough where even the tallest human couldn’t scale it.  
> Alan was storming through the facility, about as threatening as any fleshling, yet mechs still cleared a path.  
> “Where is he?! Where is that motherfucker?”  
> Wheeljack was trailing behind him, “I’m sorry, what's that derogatory slang that notes the female parent-unit mean?”  
> The tech chose the middle of the life-support room to turn and face his new coworker. “Cop-bot! Fuzz-Bot! Bacon-bot! You know!” When Wheeljack shrugged, Alan yelled, “That asshole that put up the giant baby-gates like we’re a buncha dumb fuckin’ puppies! How am I supposed to get into your armory now?”  
> He had the attention of the bots in the room. Perceptor, Ratchet, Pharma, Jetfire and First Aid watched this little organism have a meltdown. Perceptor edged forward curiously, despite First Aid and Jetfire warning him not to.  
> New mechs always learned the hard way.  
> The science-bot squatted down before the man, “What do you need in the armory?”  
> Alan turned slowly to face the mech. “I have a fever, and the only prescription, is more alien tech.”  
> Perceptor reached to scoop up the fussy little human, “Well, I’m sure I can take a moment –"  
> Jetfire, First Aid, and EVEN Wheeljack cried, “No Don’t –!"  
> GZZT!  
> Perceptor recoiled with a yelp, holding his hand, “He – he BIT me!”  
> Alan held what could have been a modified tazer – probably the result of his scrounging around within the armory. He pointed his little device at the mech, “I’m a bitey little shit. Remember that when you go to pick me up – which should happen *never*, got it?”  
> “So aggressive.” Pharma tapped Perceptor to trade places, and he knelt to lean in close, “Does your paint job indicate anything towards this behavior of yours? A warning? Is it cultural, or are you created with these designs?”  
> He took a few steps back as the bot angled his head from side to side. “Interesting. Would you hold still long enough for me to inspect? Maybe undergo a little sedation to calm your aggression?”  
> Alan took wider steps back, holding his tazer out to Pharma, “You stay the fuck away from me.” When he felt he was a safe distance, he turned on his heel and marched right out, “Nope. Nope. That guy gives me the creeps. I don’t like him, no sir.”  
> Pharma looked about questionably, “Did I say something off-putting?”  
> Everyone shrugged. No one understood what that little man was so rattled over. Pharma was a pretty nice mech.


	23. Without Hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons continues to be a threat, and you adopt a new way to control the situation.  
> Sunstreaker still struggles with his feelings for you, as you try to overcome yours.  
> In the background, something you've been dismissing is starting to rear its ugly head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not necessarily a trigger warning, just a heads up that I looked up a bunch of French curse words. I hope that they're correct and not some super offensive thing that I thought meant something entirely different.
> 
> Wow. I did not expect the last chapter to get such a response. Just...wow.  
> I'm actually kind of speechless so many of you have stuck with me this far. I wish I had something better to say other than 'thank you'.
> 
> This is the month, guys. Where it all comes out. It's taking everything I have not to post this all at once.  
> Hope ya'll are still goin on strong. Much love and take care.

“Pay no mind to the _giant dragon-machine_ ,” Bethany mocked, waving her hands around to mime some foolish impression of you, “You gonna use that on him, too?”

You were more for the idea of calling Sky Lynx over. Just the sheer size of him might be enough to unnerve the Agent – not to mention the row of _teeth_ you could see from here. You searched the area for anyone you recognized to just _stand_ here and look intimidating. _Prowl_. You needed Prowl. You needed to run inside and get that officer to scare off this new threat with his glare of everlasting disappointment.

If you sprinted to the building now, that would paint a serious target on your back. You couldn’t leave the agent’s line of sight, and you just had an inkling he spotted you as he drove up. You had to keep from being painfully suspicious. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Honestly, you froze up, plain and simple.

The van pulled up and parked. Bethany aimed the most disarming of smiles the agent’s way while sidelining to you, “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know,” You peeped, “If he goes in there, as soon as he sees my lab and Sunstreaker’s body, he’ll start asking questions we don’t have answers for.” You watched the man check himself in his rear-view mirror, and got a hunch that he was here for more of a social call. You croaked, “Get Holly.”

Bethany worked her shoulders and rooted her stance. “I’m not leaving you alone with this asshole.”

You hissed, “I can keep him busy. Just get Holly – or Prowl, or _both_!”

Agent Seymour Simmons began exiting the vehicle, and she took a moment to look you up and down, lowering her voice just loud enough for you to hear, “Fine, but before I do, watch him _carefully_. You just keep being your sweet little mousy self, but _watch him_. Remember what I told you before.”

Your head snapped to glare at her. _Mousy_!? You were _not_ mousy! What the _hell_ was she saying? Watch him? And she said a lot of things, what was she referring to? You opened your mouth to ask, but the van door slamming shut grabbed your attention.

The tall man scanned the bustling area where the Autobots went on repairing Sky Lynx. He glanced at you while pointing at the obvious, “We received notice that an ally shuttle broke atmosphere and entered our airspace. Is that it?”

You shrugged, lying with a chuckle, “I think? I was busy. They don’t tell me anything.”

“Why would they? You’re human.” He continued to close the distance while laughing at his own humor, “What do they call that one? Dinobird? Snoopytron? Snakebite?”

“Sky Lynx.” You didn’t laugh. You wanted to rub his face in just how well you and your team were working with the Cybertronians; that coexistence was possible and attainable. 

“That was my next guess,” he said dryly before clearing his throat, “Miss Morgan, we need to talk.”

“ _Miss_ Morgan, so formal,” Bethany crooned, stepping forward to lessen the space between her and Agent Simmons. “Sorry Investigator, you’ll have to go through me. We’re having much-needed girl-time.”

You had to rein back the horrified look you almost shot her. What was she _doing!?_ Scratch that – you knew what she was doing. She was flirting with the man who could ruin everything. What was her angle? What was –?

_Watch him_.

“Apologies.” Agent Simmons nearly stumbled over his words, “Please, excuse us, Miss Beller –"

She held herself confidently, brushing her well-manicured nails up and down his sleeve, “No need to be so proper with _me_ , Mr. Simmons.”

He shied back – actually _leaning away_! “It’s _Agent_ Simmons.”

“Do you make your wife call you _Agent_?” She purred with this boldly lewd curl to her lips. “ _That_ sounds like fun.”

_Oh my God_. You witnessed the man withdraw by just how aggressively she was coming on. _Watch him carefully_. Why wasn’t Agent Simmons receptive to her advances? She was clearly more attractive – heels and a form-fitting blazer versus sneakers and a lab coat! Why were _you_ in his crosshairs? You were deliberately off-putting. You were so cold towards him, even penguins shivered! You never flirted once, but here was Bethany, one step away from shoving her hand down his pants, and he’s _rejecting_ it?

Did he not like forward, sexually aggressive girls like Bethany? Or maybe he just didn’t like her in general. _He should_ , you thought spitefully, _Sunstreaker finds her appealing_. You quickly cast aside the _not_ -jealousy that flashed by and focused on the subjects before you. It didn’t matter why Agent Simmons took such an interest in you, what did matter was that he was in your way, and he wasn’t going anywhere. You had to adapt. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught onto the movement of Bethany slipping that photo of her daughter into her pocket. Bethany wanted a family. She didn’t have that, back at home with her parents. If everyone was together again, that little girl would have it all. Bethany must have wanted that. That’s why she needed you to bring everyone back together again. To be a _family_ again. 

That was Bethany’s motivation. That’s why she helped you, because in the end, she was doing what she felt was best for her child. _But...why didn’t she tell you about her daughter sooner?_

You muffled all those bewildering uncertainties and focused on _now_. You two were allies, sharing the common goal of protecting _The Project_. That’s all that mattered now. Everything else can be set aside. The threat was right here, before you, and Bethany was helping you _see_ the kind of man Agent Simmons was all along.

_You just keep being your sweet little mousy self._

The man was stumbling over himself, having trouble forming complete sentences. _How interesting_. You studied him like you would a _Chaos Carolinense_ amoeboid. Agent Simmons wasn’t looking for someone easy to pass the time. Was it the chase? Were you someone to conquer? Or did he genuinely _like_ you? _Shit_. What did he see in you that attracted him?

“Bethany,” You said softly, putting on your best virtuous face, “He’s not taking to your teasing well. Why don’t you go inside and check with _Holly_ when I’ll be available next.”

She arched her brow at you with a small smirk, “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two _alone_. Don’t have too much fun.”

You watched her saunter away in that perfect gait that swayed her hips _just right_. Her poor spine and lower back must be going through _hell_ , not to mention how her feet must feel at the end of the day. You realized, a little too late, you just sent her in the facility were _Sunstreaker_ was. You prayed Alan would keep guard, and you prayed again that he wouldn’t throw her out and cause a scene. Then you prayed _one more time_ that Bethany wouldn’t try to talk to Sunstreaker. You weren’t sure who you were praying to.

“She's a little... _pushy_ , isn’t she?”

You turned your attention back to Agent Simmons. You couldn’t curb the hopefulness from your tone, “She seems to really like you. You’re not interested?”

“I’m sure she’s a great person and all,” He sucked his teeth, “Miss Beller is just a bit _tall_ for my liking.”

Bethany wasn’t much taller than you, but those heels definitely gave her quite the vantage point. You resisted working your jaw. She was nearly nose to nose with the agent, and he considered her _too tall_? You didn’t bother asking yourself if it was an insecurity or a preference.

“Let’s get to business,” You said, “What can I do for you, Agent?”

“Yes, the reason I’m here,” His demeanor changed to something contrite and concerned, “I’ve been trying to get clearance into the NBE facility, and the liaison has been _literally_ hiding from me. I’ve found that little geek under a desk, once.”

You quirked an amused brow. You were sure the liaison missed Jazz, as well.

“So I started hounding Doctor Arkeville, and he’s been very dodgy. So I went above his head directly to the committee that funds this sector.”

Your brow fell. This man was the equivalent of a persistent fly, and you wanted nothing more than to repeatedly slap his face with a swatter.

“And while all the paperwork here is in order, no one remembers approving your department moving to the Autobot base. It’s all logged in electronically, but no one can find the hardcopies Doctor Arkeville faxed over for approval,” Agent Simmons said.

Your heart thumped in your throat, and you brought your hand to your collarbone to try and hide it. “Really?” You tried to sound surprised, but your voice only cracked, “I understand they approve several requests from multiple sectors like this, but this was a serious thing. I’m shocked no one remembers signing it off. Are you able to read the name?”

“Are you joking?” He snorted, “A bunch of splotchy scribbles that was faxed over? The whole page looks like a failed art attempt. The committee is currently trying to find out who lost the copies on their end. It’s not the first time paperwork gets lost in the shuffle, but I don’t think this whole _electronic logging_ will solve anything.”

Holly and Alan could only do so much. Between forging and filing false documents to hacking into the system and planting logs, it still wasn’t enough. Thanks to Agent Simmons, now the committee was on alert. _Great_. How much time did _that_ shave off your operation?

“But that’s not the only problem.” His eyes searched yours, “While I was in your records room, I found an old manifest of the alien materials received. Each department is logged in for a certain quantity, but it looks like your department numbers were different than what was submitted in for the committee.”

Your face chilled as you envisioned all color leaving it. You tried – and failed – to let fear turn your eyes perfectly round. You feigned ignorance, “Different, how?”

“The quantity of the alien substance being brought here wasn’t adding up. Your department received more of that _energon_ than what was logged. I’m no scientist, but that amount to just work on lab mice?” He let out a long sigh, “I pulled a few more old manifests, and found the same kind of discrepancies. I might have to report this to HQ, temporarily suspend your department, and bring Doctor Arkeville for questioning. I’ll need the NBE’s cooperation to get their logs and try to sort this all out.”

Your fear surged into anger. _That stupid old man!_ What was he thinking?! Keeping hard records of _correct_ quantity counts on the energon distribution, and stored in the _archive room_ of all places! You were no criminal, but even _you_ knew how to lie and dispose of evidence! If your department gets shut down, then maybe you could work in secret under the Autobot’s roof, but if Doctor Arkeville gets hauled in for questioning, who knows what will happen?

You held your breath. _This was your doing_. If you had just came up with a game plan to let Agent Simmons wander about the facility, then he wouldn’t have dug as much as he had – _and why the hell was he so fixated?!_ He was supposed to be investigating the explosion, not your lab! Why is he looking at old shipping manifests? Why were you garnering so much of his attention? What did you do to deserve it?

You swayed with your thrashing heart as you started scribbling on your mental chalkboard. Agent Seymour Simmons had a distaste for the Autobots. He felt they were a real threat. He felt _you_ setting up within those walls was a _real threat_. Could it be that simple? Was he actually worried about the bots threatening all of humanity, or just _you_?

_That was it_. You stood back from your mind’s eye to look at all the dots connecting as a whole. Agent Simmons wanted to be the _hero_. He wanted to _save_ you. The first time he met you, you were playing the part of the mourning daughter, and he must have related to that, having lost his own father. He must have felt you were a tough shell to crack to get to your soft insides, that you were too innocent to see the threats on the horizon, and you needed _his_ assertive hand to guide you in the right direction.

_You’ll get further stroking their ego than trying to break it._

You heard Bethany’s words surface like a faint smell of rot. You had to make a decision, _and quickly_. You’ve chosen a path you had never ventured down before, but it was the last one on your map. Your knees softened and you feigned a stumble.

Agent Simmons was fast to wrap an arm around your waist. “Miss Morgan! Are you alright?”

You blinked and daintily touched your head like you’d seen all those damsels do in movies. “I – I just got a little dizzy.”

He guided you to his van, opening the side door, and sat you on the edge. “Did you eat today? Damn-it, I haven’t even asked you how you’ve been. I should’ve taken you to lunch first, maybe ease into the news.”

You let him babble on as he knelt before you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead because _that_ was an accurate thermometer. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you. You had nothing to do with this, so getting suspended doesn’t mean you’re in trouble. Doctor Arkeville was the director of this project you’re on. This was his responsibility. You’re just following orders.”

Thank God for his annoying habit of assuming, but you noticed something else. He was _fretting_ over you. Panicking, even. He filled in the blanks without you saying a single word, and he wasn’t asking you anything, _he was telling you_. Agent Simmons painted you as innocent and ignorant, and you had to maintain that image.

The road behind you was paved with your mistakes. Mistakes of letting Henri leave that night, of never noticing the leaking energon, and now, you had to face the mistake of not handling this relentless man correctly. There was no right or wrong. No black and white. Your vision blurred along with the moral high-ground. All that mattered was the Project. All that mattered was your promise to Sunstreaker.

_You don’t have to like them to pretend they’re your hero._

You met with Agent Simmons’ black-hole eyes with your tearful ones, and they were _real_ tears. You felt sick to your very core for playing this card. You pleaded, “Don’t report this.”

He took in your vulnerable visage for a beat before having to look aside. “I have to.”

It was utterly fascinating as the Scientist inside of you became the Strategist, working fast to come up with all the ways to bend this man to your favor. You sniffed, dabbing your eyes with your sleeves, “I don’t know what to do if our research gets shut down. All our hard work, lost. I’ve known Ivan my whole life. Please, let me find out what happened. I don’t want him arrested.” 

You never thought you could sound like this. So helpless and pitiful. Agent Simmons couldn’t keep from rubbing your arms up and down, trying to soothe you. He tried to explain to you as he would talking to a child, “There’s a protocol –"

“Was it protocol to tell me?” Your hands came up and gripped onto his jacket, _willing_ him to cave. “Why did you tell me?”

“To help you,” He snapped, then bit his tongue. His gaze fell to your hands, then back up before speaking patiently, “I wanted to prepare you for what will happen. I can protect you from the fallout if it comes to it.”

_Use it_. You heard some twisted, slimy creature hiss from that dark part of yourself. If Agent Simmons wanted to be your knight, then you’ll act the fragile princess. You blinked in a few more tears, looking away dramatically while covering your mouth and heart. You burbled up a piteous little sob and _my god you were bad at this_.

You thought of all those movies that had theatrical women in love: _Casablanca_ , _The Creature from the Black Lagoon_ , _Cleopatra_ , _Singin’ in the Rain_. Your thoughts turned to Bethany. How she moved, how she smiled, how she made you feel _important_. She could also make you feel like the largest failure of the universe. _Use it_.

You shyly glanced up at Agent Simmons, nodding while nibbling your lip. “I know he didn’t do it deliberately. Let me talk to him and see if we can fix it without stalling your investigation.” You staged a shaky breath, emulating the one part of Bethany that you never thought you could. “I need your help, Seymour, but I’ll understand if you _can’t_.”

The hook was baited. _Can't_ , not _won’t._ He was the Lead Investigator. You knew full well the extent of his powers. 

“Thank you, though, for the warning.” You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his chest as your arms snaked around him. You felt the definition of his body under his shirt and his rapid heartbeat. The clean smell of his aftershave made your eyes water. You distantly thought how Sunstreaker smelled faintly like a Cybertronian, and you came to like those otherworldly scents. _For Sunstreaker._

You closed your eyes to ride out the quailing of your senses. Your hands were shaking, but your voice was never steadier, “I guess that’s _all_ you can do for me.”

Agent Simmons’ breath hitched, and you heard a soft grunt of his internal struggles. You could hear the battle wage within his breaths, his ego fighting with his duty, and the war ended before it had begun. You felt his chin rest on the top of your head as his arms came around you.

“You have until tonight.”

You clenched your jaw. The amount of pressure you put on your molars would make a hydraulic press seem gentle. This is what you wanted, but this is not what victory felt like. You felt unclean and itchy, like crawling through an old attic. You rasped, “Thank you.”

Agent Simmons rubbed your back up and down, and the motions of it left you with a vague sense of seasickness. “Meet me in town, tonight. Are you familiar with that diner off the highway exit? Meet me there and give me an update.”

You pulled away to look him in the face, “We can’t talk here?”

“I’m jeopardizing a lot by not reporting this. The least you can do is join me for dinner after we talk.” He stood, aiding you to your feet as a gentleman would.

A diner would be a public place. It would be safe. It was the price you had to pay if you wanted this to go smoothly. You nodded reluctantly, unable to stare into those black-hole eyes for long. “I’ll see you there.”

“Hey,” He placed his hand on your shoulder, his thumb coming up to brush your cheek. “It’ll be alright. We’ll work this out, and maybe afterward, we’ll have a good time.”

You fought the urge to flinch away. What an infuriating man. He just came to tell you he might have to shut down your department and take in your boss for questioning, and then he expects you two to have a lovely dinner? You turned your head away, feigning shyness when in all actuality, it was disgust and shame. You hated this.

“I’ll see you later, Seymour.”

“Can't wait, Eva.” He gave a little chuckle before getting in his van and driving off.

You felt oily. _Slimy_. You still smelled his aftershave. You stood there, watching him drive away, idly wondering what it would take for the van to randomly explode. It was an ugly, terrible, thought. You touched your warm face with your frigid fingers. _What have you become?_ You were no saint, you’ve lied before, but _this_? This gnarled creature of seduction and manipulation was not you. This was not a face you recognized.

You spun on your heel and stormed your way to the facility. As you came to the doorway, you spotted Sunstreaker leaning against the far wall. He had a perfect view of everything that happened. It made your heart seize with guilt, ashamed that he may have seen this hideous side you conjured up.

You had a hard time swallowing. “You-you’re not needed in the lab?”

“That woman showed up, and Paint-job distracted her long enough for me to slip away.” His arms were crossed, frowning more than usual. You recognized that look, and it hurt coming from him. He was judging you.

You had trouble meeting those alien blues. “How much did you see?”

“Enough to be confused,” He admitted, “You were... _affectionate_ with that bloodbag. Why?”

“He found something that could bring everything to a halt,” You could barely speak at a normal volume. You didn’t want Sunstreaker to think less of you, but at the same time, you didn’t want to lie to him. You inhaled unevenly, breathing out, “I was misleading him.”

“Mis...leading?” Sunstreaker peered, and when your eyes finally held his puzzled gaze, you watched as his face paled. Slowly, he understood what you were doing. “No. _No_. You can’t –"

“What choice do I have?” Your voice cracked, “I don’t like it, but if it throws him off, then I need to _pretend_ I’m...interested.”

“What if it goes too far?” He argued, “No. It’s not worth it. Nothing is worth _that_.”

“Saving _you_ is!” You blurted.

Sunstreaker’s arms dropped to his sides as you covered your mouth. He winced, turning his head to suck in air between his teeth. How far were you willing to go to help him? This crash course in human culture illuminated all the ways this could go wrong. He couldn’t let you. He couldn’t let you put yourself in this kind of position. _He couldn’t let that lesser creature touch you._ He closed the distance and gripped your shoulders, lowering his head to look you dead in the eye.

“I don’t _want_ this.”

You felt a shiver course through your body. Why did Sunstreaker care? Scratch that, why did he care about what happened to you _more_ than he did himself? The faint scent of oil and ozone tickled your senses, and you craved the feel of his arms around you, to wash away this sin you were committing.

If you cared what Sunstreaker thought of how you were handling this situation, then it might make you weak. You couldn’t afford to hesitate with Agent Simmons. You didn’t want Sunstreaker to look at you like _this_ , like you were _hurting_ him. Uncertainty crawled in your mind, and your lip trembled, “Is that you saying that, or Henri?”

Sunstreaker was sure that it was his, but doubt was infectious. His gaze faltered from yours. “I... it’s...”

“Is he still here?!”

Alan came flying from around the bend with Bethany hot on his heels, “Don’t! She’s –"

Seeing you, he slowed, but continued to yell, “Agent Shit-stain here? What the fuck happened?”

You cowed at the thought of revealing what you had done to buy time. Sunstreaker put distance between you, turning away. You didn’t mean to confuse him, but at the same time, was he honestly concerned for you, or was he being influenced by your fiancé’s feelings?

You couldn’t waste any more time. You had to make this count. _You had a promise to keep_. You glared sharply at Bethany, “Why didn’t you get Holly?”

“I didn’t see her, and I wasn’t about to start screaming her name.”

You gave an exasperated flap of your arms, “What about Prowl? You can't miss _him_!”

Bethany snapped, “I’m not talking to a giant robot cop!”

You huffed a growl and shoved your way past the two, darting ahead. They cried out varying protests but followed nonetheless – or at least _tried_ to. _Smokers_. You were hardly winded as you finally made it to the life-support room, shouting Holly’s name like a Valkyrie calling to arms.

Your assistant popped her head up from her perch on Ratchet’s terminal. Before the mech even offered to help her down, Holly threw down her short-heeled shoes to the floor below, hiked up her skirt, and started scaling _down_ the bot like a seasoned rock-climber. You were about as dumbfounded as Ratchet, who just stood there as this little organic spidered her way down the length of his body.

Holly darted to collect her shoes, smoothly slipping them on as she ran up to your side. You stared at her, your mind a roulette of what to address first. So many choices, so many important topics, but you chose, “You know you can wear pants, Holly.”

“I’m inconspicuous this way, Ma’am,” She quipped with a scary amount of cheer, “You called?”

“Right,” You cleared your throat and whistled for everyone’s attention that wasn’t already on you and your assistant.

You began explaining what Agent Simmons found. Doctor Arkeville was on the verge of being investigated thoroughly, and your branch being suspended. The forged paperwork of your lab’s move and requisitions are now being questioned by the committee. The agent was now distracted from getting into the Autobot base, but it was only making things worse. You had until tonight to give him a good excuse to sweep this all under the rug.

You left out the part on _how_ you got him to wait. 

Holly had _several_ choice words to share, all blurred together as she hastily muttered what you presumed to be a string of curses peppered with what you could understand. “ _C’est des conneries!_ That petulant child, Simmons, _fils de pute! Quel salaud_. How could Ivan make such a stupid mistake? _Niquer! Niquer, niquer, niquer!_ ”

“Language, Miss LeTene,” Prowl chided.

“What does this mean?” Pharma looked from team member to team member, “That our little collection of humans are in trouble? Are _we_ threatened?”

Wheeljack waved his hand to quiet him down, “Ah, ah, _nnn_ – don’t call them _our collection_ of humans.”

“Yeah,” Alan added, “Makes you sound _more_ like a Bond villain.”

“Oh, terribly sorry,” Pharma apologized, then sidelined to Perceptor, “What is a _Bond_ villain?”

Ratchet stepped a little closer, and you began fielding the steps up to your lab to save that crick in your neck. He directed himself to both you and Prowl, “You’ve done all you could here. We have all the data we need to try and formulate a solution. You two work out what you need to do to keep the threat off our backs.”

Prowl tracked you with his optics as you reached the top, and you snapped your fingers at your staff to scatter and get back to work. The officer came closer to the railing, grabbing your attention, “What I can do is limited, if I want to avoid a diplomatic incident. How are you going to handle this?”

“Carefully,” You said firmly, “I’m using... _methods_ I’m not used to, to buy us time, but I don’t know how much. I just need your side to _please hurry_.”

His optics narrowed, “We can evacuate, and take Sunstreaker to a covert location –" 

“An evacuation? What about _her_?” Sunstreaker suddenly exploded from the floor below, “She’s trying to save my life and we can't do a thing for her?!”

Prowl frowned, “She understands –"

“ _You_ don’t!” He yelled with that thirty-foot tall temper, “She’s doing everything she can to help us, and we can't do the same for her?! If she gets caught, it’s not just about _me_ anymore! What are we doing for _her_?! _Nothing_!”

Sunstreaker huffed and puffed, feeling this pitiful frame already working itself into overdrive. His vocals weren’t loud enough, he wasn’t big enough, and he certainly wasn’t _threatening_ enough. Everyone just stared at him, few exchanging glances and soft murmurs these organic audio receptors couldn’t pick up. If he was in his frame, he would _make_ them listen, _make_ them take you – by _force_ , if he had to.

_By force_. His gaze fixated on you. You braced yourself on the railing, looking down with that sad part to your lips. He knew that was his impulse, to just take you up leave, whether you were kicking and screaming or not. That was _his_ selfishness. _Frag everything else, you didn’t deserve this!_

“Hey!” Alan slapped him roughly on his back, spinning him around to face the exit, “Walk it off, man. We’ll talk later.”

Sunstreaker grunted a snarl and stormed out of the room, leaving silence in his wake. _He was fooling himself_. If he was in his frame, he couldn’t just force you to do something you didn’t want. _What was wrong with him?_ The thought of you being unhappy with him left an empty feeling in his chassis – _chest_ , whatever.

You tried to process his outburst, feeling a certain chord of your heart pull tightly. Enough time passed where Bethany and Alan began ascending the steps, and the Autobot science team returned to their work.

Prowl finally let out a long, venting, sigh, leaning more towards you and lowering his vocalizer, “Was that in regards to the _methods_ you implied?”

Your lips pressed together, giving a stiff nod. You didn’t want anyone to know. You didn’t want anyone to see this newly discovered _skill_ you uncovered.

“I see.” He turned his head away for a moment, looking as if he was contemplating, “I’m assuming you’re feigning interest in the fleshling agent to curry favor?”

Prowl _would_ figure it out. Your eyes cast downward. You nodded again.

His optics narrowed into sharp shards of ice. His hand came up to rest on the railing as he seemed to loom over you. He looked terrifying all of a sudden, and you watched the railing bend under his grip. He would break your bones easily. _Why was he so angry?_

He spoke with a softness that was unlike him, or this wrath he demonstrated, “We would need you. We would need your medical knowledge on your organic species to ensure Sunstreaker’s extraction would be successful. You could come with us _right now_. Say the word, Doctor. I’ll give the order at your command.”

You were seduced by the smooth, stern, tenor of his vocals, swaying with that kind of power at the tip of your tongue. You could _run_ from it all, be _protected_ from it all. The threat of the world locking you away from trying to make things right would have to go through countless miles of sentient alien metal. You could keep your promise to Sunstreaker, and then work to bring Henri back.

“Just say it,” Prowl nearly purred.

You _wanted_ to and nearly did, until Alan had something to say about it.

“The _fuck_ she is!”

The tech stormed up beside you, snarling at Prowl, “You take her, then what? You plan on taking her team? How about the rest of us?”

“You would stay behind,” His cold cutting tone returned.

“And deal with the bullshit left in your wake.” He jutted his thumb behind him, “I don’t know if you noticed, we use a fucking _team_ to solve our problems. And what about, oh I dunno, _war_!?”

Prowl scowled as this painted organic continued to menace.

“You take her and bail on us, the alliance with your people would be dissolved _overnight_. Everything would be laid out in the open. You’d be aiding and abetting a criminal, or be accused of kidnapping, or whatever they wanted to pin on you, but either way, _fuck you_. You think about what would happen afterward? You get your man, we get ours, and then what? You just gonna bring her on back? Happy ending for everyone?”

“Don’t patronize me, _fleshling_ ,” He growled.

“Oh, I will and I _am_.” He stood his ground as the bot leaned in, “Here’s the thing. I ain't scared of you. That means there's some crazy fucker with an army who’s _also_ not afraid of you. If that alliance goes away, you bet your shiny metal ass you’ll have more glory-holes than a truck-stop bathroom.”

_Shit_. When Alan spoke, _really_ _spoke_ , he was right. You looked up at Prowl, watching that frown deepen. He knew it, too.

“So...she’ll just seduce the agent, then,” Bethany chirped with an inappropriate amount of cheer. “It’s not _that_ hard.”

“Shut up, _Bitch_ any.”

“Fuck you, Al.”

“Stop,” you demanded, “Just stop. We’re not evacuating, yet, but I’m not letting Sunstreaker fall into government hands. We work _together_ , understood?”

Alan and Bethany exchanged glances.

You weren’t having this. All this petty bullshit needed to stop, and you just didn’t have _time_. You let them have it, “I _said_ , we work _together_. If you can’t, then get the _fuck_ out of my lab! I don’t want to hear it from _either_ of you. I need all hands on deck, and I won’t hesitate to throw you overboard. Are you with me, or not?”

Alan gave a toothy grin, always amused when you were just on the edge of speaking entirely in cuss words. “I always got your back, captain.”

Bethany was silent for too many beats, and you glared at her, “If you want Henri to wake up, and for us to ever meet your daughter, I need you to cooperate.”

She chewed her lip before licking it, resigning herself to nod. “Yeah, whatever you need me to do.”

“Daughter? She has a...?” Alan stared at you for a moment, blinking, before turning his head slowly to stare at Bethany. He drew in a sharp inhale as the hamster in his brain engineered the wheel into a spacecraft.

“Good, work with Holly to double-check that all your forms are in order. I want them pristine, and to leave no room for questioning if they get looked at,” You directed, “Alan, can I rely on you to hold down the fort? I have to go.”

“Yeah,” He said slowly, turning that bright green gaze on you. There was something aflame in his eyes.

“Keep it together,” You said with a gentle sternness. You didn’t know what set him off, but you knew that look of burning anger. 

Alan snorted, and turned to storm off, but not before checking one mean shoulder into Bethany like a petty little brat. She grunted and scoffed, “So mature.”

“You should keep your distance from him,” You grumbled out an irritated sigh, “Just... stay with Holly.”

Bethany clicked her tongue, “I’ll be fine. You just focus on what you have to do so we can save Henri, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

With a strong nod, you left her. You began working your way out of the Autobot facility. You wasted enough time; you had to leave _now_ to find Doctor Arkeville and come up with a plan – except Sunstreaker was waiting by your car. You would be delayed just a little longer. You slowed your approach, panting from your quick jaunt.

He didn’t spare you a glance as his eyes fixated on the road leading out in the forest. “You’re being stupid.”

You had a growl under your breath, fully intending to shove his petulant ass from blocking your driver door. “I do not have time for this.”

“Make time!” He snapped, glaring at you with familiar anger.

It gave you pause, and with the urgency you felt, you lacked the mental capacity to talk to him compassionately. “I _can't_. I have to leave.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Sunstreaker knew he sounded like a needy sparkling, but something you said got under his plating, and now he couldn’t stop doubting himself. This _whole_ situation got in his gears.

“Get out of my way,” You argued, “I’m just going to coordinate with Doctor –"

“No, you idiot! I don’t want you going out with that meatbag,” He grounded out, pushing himself up to stand and pace about, “I don’t care if it’s your sparkmate’s feelings or mine, I don’t want you to do this. I don’t want you to go.”

This had to have been _his_ feeling, his _ache_. He felt so strongly about you going and putting yourself in danger. You were going behind enemy lines, and playing the role of a potential mate. He wasn’t jealous of this meatbag – _he wasn’t_ – he didn’t want you to get hurt, to be forced into something you’d regret. This was all him, _he_ felt like this. He was sure of it.

It was useless to leave Sunstreaker like this. You had to take the time to calm him down, and with a defeated sigh, you said, “I don’t want to, either. But I have to.”

“To _save me._ ” He stopped to drive his gaze into you. “Not like this. What if... what if something happens? What if you get hurt?”

That was a very real possibility for _any_ situation. You resigned yourself to sitting on your car’s bumper, rubbing your face to keep your misgivings from showing. “I’ll be fine,” You lied. You didn’t know what would happen. 

You felt Sunstreaker sit beside you. “Convince me.”

You pulled your face from your hands to see his. He had this desperate look about him, and you tried to keep your heart from fluttering. Was this _his_ feelings? Because you knew for sure, his expression was not Henri’s in the least.

“Convince me you’ll be fine,” He insisted, “Because what you’re doing, it’s dangerous. You’re going into enemy territory, and posing as one of their own. You’re doing the work of a saboteur. You’re a _scientist_. This isn’t one of your strengths.”

You searched his alien eyes, fighting the urge to ask a question that served no purpose other than to make your heart burn. You felt for a long while that the relationship you two shared was platonic, but still knew that he wanted you safe because you were his last hope. Now that the Autobot science team was here, he could afford to not care. He did. He still did.

The fear was there in the pit of his fuel tank. If he let you go, would you come back? Sunstreaker held your gaze, pleading, “ _Please_. Convince me that I’ll see you, again.”

You asked quietly, “Is this...your feelings, or Henri’s?”

He glanced away, taking a deep breath and just laying it out there, “I want them to be mine.”

It became hard to swallow as everything in your chest seized up. You struggled to take a breath, and cleared your airway to peep, “You...do?”

Sunstreaker pressed his hand on his chest, fingers curling to twist up his shirt. There was a sincerity about him that nearly fractured your heart. You wanted him to care about you, but at the same time, you didn’t. It would be easier for you to overcome these yearning emotions if he didn’t.

“I’ve lived millions of years,” He spoke with a rueful tone that made you want to wrap your arms around him, “I’ve lost so many friends and comrades to the very thing you’re about to do. This feeling that I have, right here, that’s familiar – that’s _mine_.”

Okay. So he was afraid. So were you. Whether he was fearing for you, or of the possibility of everything going to hell, you felt it best left unanswered. You turned to face him more, patiently explaining, “I’m going to work with Doctor Arkeville for an excuse on his mislabeling. As for having dinner with Simmons, I’m going to be in a public place. I won’t be alone with him.”

_Dinner_. Humans and that revolting act of consuming and enjoying the company of another. He didn’t want that fleshy bacteria enjoying _anything_ with you. He gnashed his teeth, jerking his head to the side, “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

You were convinced nothing would make him feel comfortable at this point. You asked, “What would make you feel better?”

“Not going,” He muttered like a blubbering child.

“Sunny,” you sighed.

He glanced at you a few times before offering, “Can...can we have Prowl get someone to follow you? Keep tabs?”

You shrugged and rolled your eyes, “Sure. Yes. Whatever works.”

Sunstreaker seemed satisfied with that, staring down at the ground. He thought of a few bots who were covert enough, bit Sideswipe wouldn’t be one of them. Even the gunner couldn’t trust his brother to keep his cool, as much as he wanted him to go and keep you safe.

You remembered the potential issue lurking in the facility, and leaned forward to see his face. “Bethany will be staying here. I’m sorry. Will you be okay?”

He cringed as his answer. You ventured, “You still feel attracted to her.”

“Yes, but...” He trailed off, and you witnessed his face turn a shade of red. It still embarrassed him to talk about her.

Sunstreaker still had these physical sensations when he saw the blonde, but when it came to you? He felt his internals fluctuate. Was that him? Or your sparkmate’s consciousness?

You took his hand and set it in your lap, running your thumb over his knuckles, “We’re getting you out of that body so you won’t be confused, anymore. Once you’re a Cybertronian again, you won’t feel like this, any longer.”

“Yeah...” His eyes flitted between you and his feet. If he _did_ still feel like this about you, it wouldn’t matter. You were devoted to a single, weak, fleshing, and you didn’t seem to have any interest in looking off-world for anyone else.

You tilted your head at his blushing face. You didn’t want him to feel so horrible over it, so you offered some form of assurances, “it’s okay. It’s perfectly normal. Don’t hate yourself over it. It’s just...it’s a normal urge for a guy to feel.”

“Even if they don’t want to?”

“Even if they don’t want to,” You echoed.

“Then why doesn’t that fleshsack agent like her?” The intensity of his gaze mixed with that electrifying otherworldly blue made your breath hitch.

Your voice wobbled, “Because...he likes _me_.”

“So humans _choose_ who they want. It’s not all just this physical need and desire, right?” His voice was low and melodic. He replayed the words you said, _he likes me_ , and thought of how he felt about you. Was it the same? Did he like you the same way that the ugly flesh-thing agent did? He wanted to know, _honestly_ wanted to know, “Then why do I feel this way about her and not _you_?”

You swallowed hard. _Need and desire_. You had those. Those words sent a warmth rivering down your spine. You composed yourself the best you could, “I don’t think I understand.”

Utilizing the same term you used, Sunstreaker admitted a little more forcefully than he intended, “I _like_ you, so why her and not _you_?”

He _liked_ you. It sounded like an admission during recess at the swing set. You coughed up a laugh, trying not to read too much into it. It wasn’t _I love_ or _I want_. There couldn’t have been anything deeper to it.

“I like you, too, Sunny. You’ve been good to me, and I never thought we could be friends like this, and I think that’s the reason why. Humans can form friendships devoid of sexual desire. That’s probably why you don’t have those sorts of feelings for me. You don’t see me in that way.”

If only the same thing could be said for you. That guilty need you had was very much alive and hungry.

Sunstreaker’s brows furrowed for multiple reasons. The first being that if he told someone he _liked_ them, that was a bold invitation to that lucky mech – and they _always_ came to join the gunner for _other_ activities. Sunstreaker knew he was an extraordinary specimen, something beautiful and desired, and he just said _I like you_! And you just smiled. _And it was wonderful_.

_You don’t see me in that way_ , you said, and he wanted to admit that wasn’t true. He had definitely looked at you in _that way_. He just had a hard time sorting if it was a curiosity, a way to repay you, or if it was all affection. You’ve said he became a good friend. That would be good enough for him, but he couldn’t help but crave _more_.

“What you’re doing for me, would you have done the same for your sparkmate?”

He looked so lost, so sad and confused. You squeezed his hand, “Without hesitation, Sunny.”

He looked away to curb his smile. You had a way of making him feel like he was worth more than he really felt. He knew he was better than most and had the skills to back it up. He knew he was an enviable frame, and not a single mech would turn him down. All of that held no compare for how special you made him feel.

“I have to go,” You said after a time.

“Yeah, I know,” He nodded mournfully, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I know you will.”

[@~@]

Bumblebee continued to follow this skittering human in a white coat, as they veered all around the facility, driven completely by that little clicky machine in their hands. They called it a _Geiger Counter_. They said it told them the measurements of radiation, but the name of it confused him.

Bots moved out of the way as the doctor continued shuffling down the halls, and every time they came across one of the newly erected barriers, he just picked them up and set them on the other side, and they continued to serpentine along, driven by the clicky noises of their little device.

“Hey Bee!” Bluestreak called out as they passed a room.

Bumblebee couldn’t let the sporadically skittering human out of his sight, so he just called back, “Hey Blue!”

The sniper left his seat and caught up with him down the hall, joining in watching the human run into a supply room and circle about. “What's goin’ on?”

“Doctor Newell has a Geiger counter.”

“Oh,” The mech nodded slowly, then asked, “What's a _Geiger_ and why do they need counted?” 

Bumblebee stepped aside as the doctor made their way back out and continued down the hall. He said, “It tells them if there's radiation. Evidently, Eva got a bit of radiation.”

Bluestreak gasped, “She does!? Is she okay? That’s bad, right?”

“They said it’s minor, and that she’ll be okay. Right, Doctor Newell?” The yellow scout asked.

The human clipped back, “Right.”

“Right,” he echoed, “See, nothing to worry about.”

“How did she get it?”

Bumblebee leaned in, eager to gossip, “She slept on a recharge slab with _Sideswipe_.”

Bluestreak gasped again, “No. Really?”

He nodded, “Oh yeah, it’s all over base. Sides is struttin’ around like he offed Megatron, himself.”

“Whatever, she’s napped with me, before. It’s not that big of a deal,” The sniper clicked his vocals, “Wonder what Sunstreaker thinks.”

“Hoist said he thinks ‘Streaker _likes_ her,” Bumblebee whispered, “He says good things about her, and he hardly says nice things about _anybody,_ let alone an organic.”

“He likes to hug her,” Doctor Newell piped up, and the bots looked towards the human, patiently waiting by one of Prowl’s _human-gates_. “And we’ve all seen the two get pretty close. We’re not judging, but we’ve noticed.”

Bumblebee hurried and helped them over, explaining, “There’s nothing to judge. It’s obvious the spark-brothers are feeling a little lost without their bonds. Eva is a nice human. I’m sure they’re just going to her for comfort.”

“Of _course_ they are! Why do you think _I_ like talking to her? My psychiatrist isn’t available all the time, y’know. The reception here is _terrible_.” Bluestreak continued to follow them into the barracks. “She’s super great to chat with, though sometimes she falls into recharge while I’m talking.”

“And what does that tell you?” Bumblebee asked dryly.

“She’s a _sleepy_ human,” He vented out an adoring little sigh, “poor thing, probably overworked. Oh, but it’s so cute, like a turbofox kit.”

The yellow scout rolled his optics. You sounded _overworked_ alright. More like your audials were overworked.

They continued to watch the human scurry back and forth around the room, holding out their clicky machine. They stopped at one of the recharge slabs, looking back at one of the bots.

“Could you turn this on?”

“No problem,” He said with a smile, finding it a little cute when the doctor went running in the opposite direction, hiding behind the doorframe. He hit a few buttons, and the hum from the berth was soft and soothing. Bluestreak observed Doctor Newell peeked in, stuck the Geiger counter in first, and waved it around.

“Bluestreak. I’ve been looking for you.”

Doctor Newell yelped as Ratchet’s foot came too close for comfort as he stepped in. He glanced down at the human and paid little mind as he focused on the sniper.

“Hey, Ratch. I’ve been meaning to stop in and say hi.”

“Yeah, yeah,” The medic waved dismissively, “I’ve been reviewing the footage Doctor Morgan provided. I saw you were caught in the electrical current, as well as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Have you been evaluated, since?”

Bumblebee meandered his way back to the two mechs, watching the human edge their way in closer to the recharge slab, holding out their clicky machine as far as their little arms would let them. 

Bluestreak shrugged, “Yeah, both Sides and I got looked over by First Aid and Jetfire. We had a few blown fuses here and there. I had a few melted wires, and Sides had a misfiring circuit that made his leg twitch, but we came out fine.”

Doctor Newell spoke up, holding up the Geiger counter like presenting it to the Gods above. “I’m not getting any readings.”

Ratchet finally questioned what was going on, wordlessly pointing at the human. Bluestreak muttered, “Trying to find where Doctor Eva got her radiation from.”

“I thought I overheard her workers talking about that. Fell asleep on one of our recharge slabs?”

“With _Sideswipe_ ,” Bluestreak eagerly shared.

Ratchet snorted, crossing his arms and keeping his thoughts to himself. He wasn't sure if you were a little touched in the processor to be throwing your lot with one of the twins, or if Sideswipe was flirting with brig-time by behaving questionably towards you. He watched Bumblebee kneel and offer the human a hand.

“I can boost you up there if you want.”

“I don’t want to get contaminated,” they hesitated.

“I’ll go slow,” Bumblebee assured, waiting for their consent, “your remote will tell you if you’re in danger, right? As soon as it starts going off, we’ll move away, real fast.”

Doctor Newell chewed their lip, resigning themselves to being picked up. How you were so _okay_ with being handled, the staff always wondered. They nodded, and Bumblebee held them by the waist, slowly bringing them to the edge of the berth.

The Geiger counter was still steady. Higher and higher, the mech lifted them, and the device did not indicate any elevated readings.

Ratchet tilted his head to the sniper, “Did Doctor Eva get looked at?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Bluestreak said, “You talk to her mean friend –"

“The one with all the decal?”

“Yeah, _him_ , he’ll say she didn’t get checked out enough. You ask her, she said she was fine. Even when she got shocked again lookin’ over ‘Streaker’s frame. First Aid scanned her, she insisted she was fine. Oh boy, even Prowl was mad when he found out – _madder_.”

“This happened more than once?” Ratchet turned to stare at him.

He made a face, “Prowl’s mad all the time, you know that.”

“No,” The medic nearly groaned, “getting shocked.”

“Oh!” Bluestreak nodded, “Yeah, so far that I’ve heard. All that can’t be good for her fluid pump.”

“Hey, guys.”

They turned their attention back to Bumblebee. The human doctor was standing right on the berth, holding the Geiger Counter, looking perplexed. They spoke up, “I’ve been all over the facility. I can’t find the source of contamination. Where could she have picked it up?”

Bumblebee added, “We’ve been all over the place and turned on every machine.”

“Was she _swimming_ in energon?” Doctor Newell waved their reader back and forth, answering their own question, “No, no. Prolonged contact with that substance would start eating away at her tissues and leave open sores.”

The three mechs watched, exchanging puzzled looks, as the human spoke out loud to only themselves. “And there wasn’t any fallout from the explosion, or else many more would be experiencing symptoms – but Doctor Morgan isn’t displaying any key signs of sickness. Who else was at the scene of the incident? Ugh, Tech-En Faireborn...maybe I can get someone else to test him. Why is he always so rude?”

“Do we... do we say anything, or...?” Bumblebee whispered.

The sniper waved a silencing hand, “Shh, they might be on internal communications.”

Ratchet rolled his optics. Bluestreak’s been on this planet much longer, and the medic already knew humans _didn’t_ have that. Just like how humans just _couldn’t_ survive the kind of electrocution that would _melt_ wires and _fry_ circuits. It sounded like you were dismissive of the whole thing, and focused on the matter at hand.

Whereas that would have been admirable, that you were so dedicated to helping a fellow Autobot, this was something he just couldn’t shake. He said to Bluestreak, “Prowl has a job for you.”

Nothing more was shared as the medic began walking away. Bluestreak, obviously concerned with having to report to the Commanding Officer, yelped, “What _kind_ of job? Wait! Where are you going?”

Ratchet didn’t slow, only calling back, “I need to talk to Doctor Morgan’s assistant.”

He wasn't sure what the human femme, Holly LeTene, would know or if she could even help. He had to start from somewhere, and if Prowl noted her as an ally worth knowing, then maybe there was more to her than meets the optic.

Ratchet knew to trust his intuition. Right now? It was screaming that something happened to more than just Sunstreaker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeljack found Alan all the way on the side of the building, leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. They still had a few more things to do, but something made the human tech storm off to be alone. The mech cautiously approached.  
> “Hey, you look a little down.”  
> “I always look pissed,” Alan shot back.  
> “No, not that,” Wheeljack said, “You look upset.”  
> “Because I am.”  
> The mech decided to kneel beside him, joining in staring off at the sky. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
> Alan made a face, “No.”  
> Wheeljack was a pretty understanding guy. He knew he was more patient than others, and where he didn’t know much about humans, it could stand to reason that there wasn’t much difference between them and Cybertronians. The engineer-bot set his hand down beside the man and said gently, “Even though we don’t know one another, I want you to know that you can talk to me. We’re a team, right now. I might not be able to solve your problems, but I can tell you that I’m a pretty good listener.”  
> Alan clutched his chest, and Wheeljack nearly panicked, “What? What is it? Are you having issues with your internals?”  
> “Nope, ugh, hold on,” He grounded out between gritted teeth, “I’m just taking these feelings I got, stuffing them in a bottle, and shoving them deep...deep down.”  
> Wheeljack’s optics blinked, “Oh...are you...are you ever going to let them out of that bottle?”  
> “Nope,” Alan said, letting out a sigh after exerting so much effort, “Imma keep it there till I die.”  
> The mech honestly didn’t know if there was a legit bottle humans kept inside their body, but what he DID know was that this human wasn’t a reliable source of information. He scanned the area before offering, “Clearly, I don’t know what to do in this situation. You’re in distress, and we need you back in there to help. I could either leave you alone and wait for you to finish *bottling up* whatever, or I could show you this neat thing I’m building.”  
> The tattooed tech cocked his head like a dog being offered a treat. “Whatcha buildin’?”
> 
> ~ LATER ~  
> Prowl patrolled the area, searching for both engineers of different species. He found them out of the way on the side of the building, sitting like sparklings on the ground with bits and pieces of some Cybertronian tech scattered all around them. What could they possibly be working on all the way out here? Certainly not on anything pertaining to Sunstreaker.  
> The Commander scowled, fists on his hips as he glared, “What do you two have?”  
> Wheeljack preened as Alan held up the piece he was working on. With a big, doofy grin, he declared, “A Bomb!”  
> Prowl practically shrieked, “NO!”
> 
> *******  
> I HC most bots have already unintentionally broken the Tyrest Accord, just because they want to show humans and other organic friends their cool stuff, and sometimes just GIVES them away like, "Oh yeah, I got like 5 of those. Here, have this ultra cool alien tech you're totally not allowed to have."  
> All the while Ultra Magnus is having a mild panic attack because he can't figure out this underground Autobot criminal market that's breaking the Tyrest Accord and supplying aliens with their technology.


	24. It Cannot Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunstreaker and Sideswipe argue, and agree, over their feelings for you, and what they should do about it. When Sunstreaker is finally alone, he is approached by the one person who triggers your fiance's memories.  
> Will he tell you what really happened? Or have you suffered enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAG UPDATE: Sexual Content added. There is no sex, but the discussions of, and the descriptions of intimate touching. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Possible Dub-Con!!! After consulting two other authors, it's been decided that there is a bit of dubious consent flavor to it. I almost missed it until it was pointed out to me. No sex, just the scenario where one person does not give clear consent, and the other person continues to get pushy and start touching.  
> If that sort of thing is not for you, you can totally skip where you find the cuts. 
> 
> Hope ya'll are doing swell. It's 90 degrees F and I got a sunburn a mile wide and I'm grumpy as hell.  
> But my honeybees are happy, so that makes me smile.  
> Much love your way.

“Is she coming back?”

You promised you would, but it wouldn’t be soon enough. Sunstreaker caught himself checking the road again, searching as if the words of his brother would cause this cosmic coincidence, and your car would magically appear from around the bend. He glanced up at Sideswipe, who was also eagerly searching in the same direction.

“Not till later tonight,” Sunstreaker responded through gritted teeth. He had only finished catching the mech up on what happened, on how you were ‘ _leading on’_ that _disgustingly weak_ bloodsack agent. You didn’t like doing this – he _knew_ you hated pretending, and it made him all the more angry.

“Why did you let her go?” Sideswipe didn’t even try to hide his accusatory tone.

Sunstreaker was finally able to rip his eyes from the road to glare at his brother. He was angry, too. Bluestreak was the one sent to tail you, not him, and the only thing stopping him was Sunstreaker. As much as your patient wanted to selfishly give the go-ahead, the red gunner would blow your cover in an instant. Sideswipe wanted so _badly_ to remove you from this all. You were putting yourself in danger doing the kind of work only trained professionals could pull off. You were a _scientist_. You weren't _made_ for this.

It was all too late. It was no longer a matter of stopping you, but to ensure you successfully got home tonight. _Home_. He wanted so badly to get in his frame and go home, but more and more he wanted you to come with him.

“You could’ve gotten me,” Sideswipe continued to berate, “I get your little and probably couldn’t have stopped her, But _I_ could’ve. All I have to do is pick her up –"

“Sides,” Sunstreaker cut him off sharply, “You know that wouldn’t work. That would make things _worse_.”

“Worse than her going right into what could be a trap? _Alone_?” He snapped, “What is she slips and he finds out about you? What if he – if he tries to spark-merge, or forces a hardline with her or whatever humans do? What if –"

“I don’t like it, either!” His human vocals could only get so loud. He wanted to take out his fury on the only one close to him, but his brother was right. Sunstreaker should have found a way to stop you, found a different way to throw the agent off your trail, but these were _human_ matters. He knew nothing other than to bust in with guns blazing and save the day in style.

Sunstreaker had to follow your lead, whether he liked it or not. His spark ached in that moment, when you gazed into his eyes with all the sincerity in the universe, and honestly said you wouldn’t hesitate to do for him as you would your own sparkmate. He closed his eyes and sighed, releasing all that fury for bitter resignation. “I don’t like it at all, but we have to trust that she can handle herself.”

Sideswipe grunted as he sat down on the pavement, “Do you?”

“Hnn?”

“Trust her.”

It felt like forever since Sunstreaker last felt the link between him and his brother. Over the bond, Sideswipe could have figured out everything without asking a single question. It still felt so foreign to actually have to _talk_ about how he felt, and it was much harder than it looked. When it came to you, did you struggle with the same thing? Were you so open and candid with him as he had to be with his spark-sibling?

“I do,” Sunstreaker admitted.

Sideswipe smiled faintly, “me too.”

Silence fell between them. Sunstreaker caught himself searching out towards the road again. He wasn’t _pining_ , he was just worried. He was _allowed_ to worry because you were so soft and gentle and stubborn, and you were the valuable medic scientist that was throwing yourself in danger because _that was the kind of person you were_. He should be out there with you because _he_ was the warrior. _He_ was the epitome of the perfect soldier. _He_ was skill incarnate.

_He_ was a hopeless idiot because he couldn’t stop looking for the headlight of your car.

“Do you like her?”

He angled his head to arch a brow up at Sideswipe, “She’s alright.”

He peered, “You know what I’m asking, clutch-muncher.”

Sunstreaker felt a flare of heat flood his cheeks. He rolled his eyes, “Not really. I don’t know. Maybe. Sure. Yeah, I guess.”

Sideswipe, satisfied with one of those answers, muttered his confession, “I think I do, too.”

“Duh,” He chuckled, “I don’t need the bond to know _that_. You get that charge to your optics and _Primus help me,_ you get _so_ annoying. She knows nothing about guns, y’know. She only lets you ramble on because _you_ like them.”

The red gunner flashed a bawdy grin, “Guess I’ll just have to ask her what she likes, then.”

Sunstreaker scoffed, “Poppin’ your plates for a fraggin’ fleshy. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’m _not_.” Sideswipe waved his hand about to act out a scene only in his mind. “Anyone else would have told me to shut the frag up, but she _listens_. She cares what I have to say, whether she’s interested in it or not. What about you? I bet you chat her audio-receptors off. I bet you _love_ talking to her.”

His poor brother. He was in _deep_. Sunstreaker rolled his eyes, trying to find a way to get you off of Sideswipe’s memory-board and make him see that this was just a fleeting crush. You would only break his spark – Sideswipe’s, not _his_. “Remember when you were seeing that scrap heap from Hedonia? You thought you liked him, too.”

“Eat slag, this is totally different!” Sideswipe snorted, “And he wasn’t a scrap heap. You hate _everyone_ I like.”

“Because you’d interface and never mute the link, let alone _warn_ me! Just because you like someone doesn’t mean I have to!” Sunstreaker argued. His brother’s taste in partners was sub-par at best, and that put a real strain on the branched-spark connection the siblings shared. He jutted a finger up at the taller mech, “Every night for an entire quartex. _Every_. _Night_. My spark vibrated me out of a recharge. I used to like Hedonia! You ruined it for me!”

“Oh yeah? Remember Cygnus Alpha? You snuck off and left during a military meeting and you _deliberately_ didn’t tell me,” Sideswipe countered, raising the stakes of who was the bigger victim, “I was talking to Optimus when the link flared. _Optimus. Prime_. You didn’t mute the bond, either!”

This was always a problem with a split-sparked sibling. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe weren’t the only Autobots that suffered with this problem; Rack n’ Ruin, Twin Twist and Topspin – though their link was _ridiculously_ strong to where they felt one another’s pain. Tracks had a brother, but woe to anyone who brought up Needlenose the _Decepticon_ , but what do you expect with a link as weak as theirs?

The bond served as a great tool in battle. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe moved in frightening unison, wordlessly clearing out entire Decepticon outposts, stalking their way through like silent glass-gas by communicating on their link alone. Sometimes, their sparks would resonate so closely, any life-signs sensors would see them as a single Cybertronian. _That_ was always hilarious when a couple of ‘Cons would try to get the jump on them.

But civilian life with a branched spark? The only way to deal with separate relationships was to either move a great distance to the point where the coded link wouldn’t pick up anything, or to expend a hefty amount of concentration to stifle the frequency – and _that_ was such a mood killer.

Or, _or,_ they happen to find someone both admired on a deeper level, and _not_ one of those types looking to have a good time with the twins for only a short while. 

The solution was clear to the yellow gunner wrapped in flesh, “Maybe if you were as interested in that secretary like I was –"

“I _hate_ the partners you pick! He was a real fragger –"

“ _Yeah_ he was,” Sunstreaker drawled.

Millions of years, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker could never find a serious compromise and commit. It was always easier to just _not_ get frisky with another mech, but healthy bots would always seek distractions outside the war.

Sideswipe rolled his optics, “He didn’t _care_ about anything else other than color themes and theater. He was _so_ boring. You like them pretty and dumb.”

“He was classy!” He was more offended than he really should have been, but he wasn’t about to have his choice in berthfellows be insulted. “ _You_ like them ugly and stupid. Remember that outpost by Airlandia? You are banned from seeing tank-frames because of him.”

“What happened at the refinery wasn’t his fault!” He squawked, “And he was totally into you, and you wouldn’t even give him the readings on your chronometer. We could’ve made it work.”

“He was a tank-frame! He was _massive –"_

“ _Yeah_ he was,” Sideswipe purred.

Sunstreaker reached up to grab the crests on his helm, only to be reminded that he was still in this fleshy body. It fueled his annoyance and he snarled, “I will _never_ take anyone you choose seriously, because you literally scrape the bottom of the storage container.”

“Oh yeah?” He loomed over his unimpressed brother, “Is our tiny femme at the bottom of the storage container?”

“No!” Sunstreaker barked without thinking, and watched him give a sly, knowing smile. _Our tiny femme_ , he didn’t even correct him in saying you weren’t _theirs_. _By Cybertron_ , when he gets back into his body, he’s going to slap the plates off of that stupid face. He held up his hand to buy a little time, clearing his throat to answer smoothly, “No, but it won’t work.”

Picking up speed, Sideswipe said, “You know all those other Autobots that get along with organics, and some of them have a friend who’s _more_ than that? I remember thinking how weird they were, but sometimes they looked happy. What if _we_ could be happy? Don’t we owe ourselves to try?”

Sunstreaker hated that his brother was _actually_ swaying him, but the problem was _you were human_. Many space-faring cultures eventually found a few within their numbers experimenting with other galactic races, but humans were very much grounded, and still remained with _humans_. If he got back in his body, could you even consider anyone outside your race?

The red gunner huffed through his vents, “I know she’s not compatible –"

“I mean, she kinda is,” Sunstreaker muttered, “she’s just...smaller.”

“But it shouldn’t even be about _that_ ,” Sideswipe continued to press the issue, “What are the chances that we’re _both_ into someone? And I mean _more_ than just for a fling. For once in our lives, we _like_ the same person. Do you know how easy that makes things? Why aren’t we trying harder? Why can’t we see if this will work?”

His hands clasped into fists. He knew _exactly_ why he didn’t try harder. Sideswipe didn’t know you like he did. He didn’t see the depths of your love for a man who better _damn well_ appreciate it. Sunstreaker grounded out, “Because we are three times her size and made of metal.”

“Do you give a frag? Because I don’t.”

“And what if she does?”

“That’s it, we don’t _know_. Why aren’t we finding out?” Sideswipe said, borderline pleading, “I just want someone to care about us, like we care about them. I see bots with their conjunx, and _I want that_. I want something other than the war. I want a life and someone who loves me and you –"

“Stop it!” Sunstreaker snapped. He didn’t want to hear that word, that _stupid word_. “Just stop! We’re not getting what we want, so drop it!”

_Love_. He heard that word plenty, but never believed in it. It didn’t mean that he didn’t want it. Throughout his life, he’s had plenty of lovers and paramours, and even felt deeply for a few – but love? None of them were good enough, and only loved pieces and parts of him. They never wholly loved him as much as he loved himself. They never loved him as much as you loved your sparkmate.

Then, there was that strand of contempt within the link. His brother’s frequency over the bond that added a sour note to the relationship, and after a while it would wear down on him, making it easier to move on. Then, there were the nights without deeper feelings. The bots that would get with the twins with only one thing on their processor – and the feeling was mutual. It was something to pass the time, and it was easier to deal with his fluctuating spark and EM field when his spark-brother was experiencing the same thing.

To imagine, finding someone that both mechs appreciated, and for Sunstreaker to experience nothing but the coded feelings of fondness over the link.

There was just the one problem. He knew this wasn’t a fantasy world where you were attainable. He said with papered strength, “She’s a few rituals away from making this stupid meatbag her conjunx, so stop being a fraggin’ moron and let it go.”

“Call me selfish, but I don’t care,” Sideswipe announced proudly before venting out all that confidence. He touched his cheek with the tips of his digits at the memory. “You weren't there that night that she stayed with me. She saw right through me, and didn’t judge, didn’t make me feel weak or stupid. She just...touched me with those soft little servos and...and pressed her helm on mine and stared into my optic with this look and...”

Sunstreaker clenched his hand over his chest. His brother didn’t have to finish the thought, as he knew that _exact_ look to you he was referring to. It was open and genuine, filled with compassion and kindness and everything the Autobots wished the universe would be.

“...And no one ever looked at me like that. I am a hundred times her size –"

“Ehh, exaggerating, but okay.”

“And _I’m_ the one who feels safe. It’s absolutely crazy. I can literally squeeze her into paste in my servos, and she just looks at me with all the trust in the universe and I –" Sideswipe gripped the sides of his helm, “I’m crazy for an organic. I’m fraggin’ crazy for a fleshy and I know _nothing_ about her race.”

Sunstreaker watched his brother take this awful shuttle ride through the meteor shower of feels and confessions, and he let out a long sigh. _Yeah, he was in deep_. Conflicted with encouraging him, versus dissuading him, he chose the latter. “Here’s something. They mate for life. She’s picked hers.”

The red mech held up a pointer digit, “But she’s not bonded yet, so there's a chance.”

“Sides, no –"

“Sunny,” Sideswipe took on a serious tone, “We lost friends, we’ve lost our _home_ to this damn war. When will we finally stop and realize we deserve to be happy. I’m not letting some unfinished fleshling ritual keep me from trying to find out whether I found what we deserve.”

Sunstreaker would have agreed, but there was always that bead of doubt. “I don’t even know if what I feel for her is me or not.”

Silence fell again, and the blond thought his brother finally dropped the subject, but he was only pausing to think.

“Do you think you’ll know for sure if you were back in your frame?”

“Sides,” Sunstreaker said with a frustrated huff, “I think _you’ll_ be the first to know.”

A few more beats before Sideswipe asked, “When you’re back, what happens then? What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know,” He said softly, “Whatever Prowl tell us, I guess.”

Sideswipe clanked his head back against the wall, looking skyward. “Is that how you really feel?”

Sunstreaker stared down at his shoes. It was a paradox, to feel one way, then to be unsure of those feelings; to be confident of himself, and then feeling the foundations of that rust. He was sure he cared for you. He knew, as an Autobot, he came to like you – but how _much_ was what he was questioning.

He answered as honestly as he could, and the words were frightening to say out loud, “I’m never sure, anymore.”

Sunstreaker felt something bump his side, and he looked over at his brother. Sideswipe brushed against him with the back of his fingers, gazing down with optics filled with that look he trusted. He knew his brother had his back.

“Then you just focus on getting back in your frame,” he said, “And I’ll worry about what happens afterwards, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks bro,” Sunstreaker nodded, fist-bumping that giant metal hand.

“And if I feel anything for that soft femme over the link, I’m jumping into action,” He grinned, making grabby hands he would _never_ do in front of you.

The man smacked the metal plates of his servo, “ _Ugh_ , don’t embarrass yourself.”

At first, he thought he hit his brother’s hand so hard it vibrated his knees, but then realized he was feeling pedsteps rumble the ground. He turned to see Ratchet coming their way.

“Sunny, Sides,” The medibot greeted briefly before directing himself to Sideswipe, “I have some questions about the energon explosion. You were holding Doctor Evalyn Morgan, correct?”

“Uhh,” Sideswipe glanced at his brother, wondering if there was a wrong answer, “Maybe...? But she made me.”

“How did she _make you_?” Ratchet planted his hands on his hips.

The red mech defended, “She yelled at me.”

“She _yelled_ at you?” He echoed dryly.

Sunstreaker added to his brother’s defense, “Doc, she can get pretty shrill when she’s mad.”

“Oh yeah, it’s bad.”

“Like, _terrorcon_ bad.”

Sideswipe did a mock-shrill voice of you, “like ‘ _Rahh Sideswipe stop instigating’_ kind of screech.”

Sunstreaker started laughing, “Bro, that was spot on. Tell me to put the toilet seat down.”

“Like this? _‘Scree Sunny put the toilet seat down!’_ What's a toilet?”

“Hup-up-up. No, _no_ ,” Ratchet put a stop to the twins being _the twins_. Luckily, Sunstreaker was already suffering with fits of laughter as Sideswipe was beaming at his brother’s reactions, so reining them in was simple.

The medibot’s optics bounced between them, taking a moment to realize Sideswipe was sitting by his brother, hand resting beside the Autobot-turned-organic who was standing close enough to touch. He glanced at his datapad before cutting in, “Am I interrupting anything?”

Sideswipe made a face. “Not...not _really_. We’re just talking.”

“Good,” Ratchet held out the pad for him to take, ignoring that me may have broken up a serious moment. “Here, take this to First Aid, tell him to run these diagnostics. I’ll come talk to you in a bit.”

He helped the gunner to his feet, and with a pat to his shoulder, sent him on his way without a single beep of complaint. You would have been impressed with how the medic had enough of their respect - or maybe they knew better to not question Ratchet of all bots. He took careful steps around the human-Sunstreaker to plant himself against the steel wall. “How have you been?”

“Wonderful,” Sunstreaker couldn’t even _pretend_ to be cheerful, “I am having the time of my life. I hope this never ends. I am _so_ happy I came to this slaggin’ planet.”

Ratchet couldn’t blame him for his outlook and recalled, “You fought so hard to stay on the Orbital Station. I thought I’d either see you in the brig or on my table.”

“Now here I am, trapped in the _worst_ form. Do you have any idea how much I’m suffering?” He snapped, aiming his glare upward at him, “If I knew this was going to happen, I would’ve gladly picked _both_.”

“Then you wouldn’t have met that human femme,” Ratchet crossed his arms, inclining his head towards where you last drove off.

“This has nothing to do with her,” Sunstreaker said quickly, but the medic was right. If he hadn’t come here, he would have never met you. If none of this happened, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have taken a nanosec to look your way. _Pretty sure_. You did have quite a look about you when you see a pretty frame, and it would only make sense you would look at him the same way.

“Of course not,” He chuckled teasingly, holding up his servo to tick off the digits, “You just let her call you the nickname reserved for close friends only, you get all close and cozy and let her touch you, you _hold her hand_ –"

“I _said_ not to read too much into that!” He was only holding your hand to keep you from wandering under-ped – _nothing more_.

He held up a digit to make his last point, “And you get all worked up over her going out on a mission.”

Sunstreaker couldn’t keep himself from yelling, “That’s not a mission, that’s a joke!”

A heavy stillness fell between them as Ratchet slowly crossed his arms, looking over the Autobot turned human with a slow shake to his head. Sunstreaker wanted to cave in on himself. He was getting so mad, losing his cool, and it was telling everything the medic suspected. He couldn’t meet his optics.

“It’s not what you think. The fleshling I’m trapped in, it makes me a little confused about how I feel.”

“I’ve read the reports, but I know you,” Ratchet vented out a sigh, “You get like this for your comrades, your brother, soldiers under your command, but it’s not unfathomable for you to feel this way about an organic.”

“I feel _disgust_ for organics,” Sunstreaker said through clenched teeth. He looked back out where he last saw your taillights. He wasn’t ready to admit what he was still unsure of, but there was one thing he knew. “But... she’s different. She’s my medic. I owe her.”

“You’re damn right you do. All of us do,” His optics searched skyward, “She is committing a crime, harboring you and trying to return you to your frame without alerting those who would incarcerate her. You better be worried about her. If you weren’t, I’d shake you like a broken flashlight.”

“She...” He trailed off, feeling something in his chest ache, “She’s not a war-build, Ratchet. She’s not a scout, or a saboteur. She’s not made for espionage or – or _violence_. She doesn’t know how to fight. This is _dangerous_ for her. She’s not like us. She doesn’t –"

The medic canted his head back down to frown sadly at the man, “Welcome to the early stages of first contact. You find a species untouched by war on a galactic scale, and you want nothing more than to shelter them from it all.”

Sunstreaker’s brows furrowed, “What? What do you mean? I don’t give a slag about this planet. Who do I look like? Optimus? I was just talking about _her_ , frag the rest.”

Ratchet snorted and rolled his optics. “Oh yes, of course, _my_ mistake.”

“Yeah, it _was_ ,” he scowled, “ _as I was saying_ , she doesn’t like this, lying and all. She’s honest. This is not her, and... _allowing_ this man to court her and making him think she's interested in him, that’s not her.”

The medibot tilted his head at learning a little more about you. “Sounds like a gentle one.”

That made Sunstreaker garble up a chuckle, “Heh, gentle? Not quite. If she was a Cybertronian, she’d scold the Decepticons into submission.”

“I take it you’ve been on the receiving end?” He asked with a knowing smirk.

The gunner barked a laugh, remembering when he absolutely abhorred you, and you certainly didn’t like him – at least he thought so, before he figured out what you had to face every time you laid an optic on him. “ _Tch_ , she’s got a mean servo, I’ll tell you that. It took a bit, but we get along pretty well. If she was a field medic, I can see us making a good team.”

“Replacing me with a fleshling, eh?” He laughed lightly along with him, “I was thinking of sending a message to Optimus, myself, to see if we could grant these humans amnesty. If she could rein you in, she could be quite the secret weapon.”

Sunstreaker turned to Ratchet so fast, he had to steady himself on the wall. His mouth opened and closed, staring at the medic with alien-blue eyes filled with hope. He would get back in his frame, and you could come with him. Whether you were with your conjunx or not, he wouldn’t care. _You_ would still be there, safe, and where he could see you whenever he wanted.

“I have it written out, but...” Ratchet gave a slow shake to his head, “but there is so much at stake. You heard that paint job of a human. Our alliance could be threatened if the humans government brands these people as criminals, and we’re harboring them. We need access to this planet for its energon resources.”

“You think Optimus values this mudball’s resources over a few humans?”

“That’s the problem. You’re not the only one who feels they owe her. For helping us, Optimus might put it all on the line. He would lose humanity as an ally, and worse, lose the edge we have against the Decepticons.”

Sunstreaker searched all around him for a solution, asking, “But what if Optimus found a way? What if he found a way to keep her from getting in trouble with her own people? What’s the plan _after_ I get back in my body?”

“I don’t know, yet. Either way, I don’t think she would ever ask for amnesty and risk those she cares about,” He sighed again, “Love is a crazy thing, no matter the species.”

Sunstreaker’s face scrunched. If the love for your mate would keep you here, then the solution was simple, “If we told her we’d take her sparkmate, then maybe she’d ask.”

Ratchet glanced down at the man. “That’s not the reason she would refuse amnesty.”

Now he was confused. He looked down at himself, wondering what else would keep you from seeking safety within the Autobots. There was a long silence before Ratchet pushed from the wall, leaving with parting words, “The human medics need you back in there.”

Sunstreaker watched him walk back inside the facility, being left with his thoughts. If anyone could find a way for everyone to win, it would be Optimus. If his leader could grant you amnesty, along with those that followed you, then what other reason would you have to refuse?

Wordlessly, he started back inside and towards the lab.

Maybe the risk of losing the alliance was still there, but what was this planet offering anyways? There were a few Decepticon sightings on Earth, and the humans were offering whatever technology and development they could towards the Autobot cause. Then there was the mining with only the pitiful payment of a few units of energon and some defunct tech. The extra fuel was a great boon to his side of the war. Everything they collected would last for so long.

_...Risk those she cares about._ Would that be the reason why you refused to put the Autobots in that situation? For the _cause_? For those who protected your mudball planet? Sunstreaker knew you tended to think beyond yourself, but to that extent? You may have had a personal stake in the war, because Primus forbid the Decepticons ever hit Earth full force, but that would imply you were thinking of yourself. Were you thinking of your species?

Sunstreaker continued along, trying his best to figure you out. He passed Tracks, preening as always – _Sunstreaker didn’t know why. That mech didn’t have much to show for_ – as Raoul touched up his decal for the umpteenth time. Those two were _ridiculous_.

Eventually, he made it inside the room where your lab was set up. He paused a moment to take in the scenery. Your assistant was rallying off numbers to Prowl, who recorded them in his own datapad. Wheeljack was watching Alan literally dive within a giant computer terminal with his legs flailing about, and the engineer-bot was absolutely smitten by how smart and handy this painted human was. Many of your staff were showing and explaining a few diagrams to Perceptor and Pharma. Everyone was working together because of _him_.

_Because of him._ Unconsciously, Sunstreaker’s hand came up over where his spark would be. _It couldn’t be._ You put so much of yourself at risk for him. You’ve smuggled him out of your facility, helped him hide right under the investigation’s nose, and now what were you doing? Throwing yourself back into danger _for him_. Would you risk yourself to keep the alliance between their people, all because of him?

_Love is a crazy thing_.

No. _No_. Ratchet was referencing your sparkmate. You were devoted to this useless sack of flesh. You couldn’t love _him_.

“Mr. Sunny?”

Sunstreaker looked up at the loft, seeing one of your underlings wave him up. He bitterly fielded the steps, and remained quiet and cooperative, much to your teams’ relief. He bounced from test to test, machine to machine, doctor to doctor, and all the while daydreaming.

Maybe you wouldn’t have to ask for amnesty. Everything could go off without a hitch, and he would get back in his frame and remain on Earth. Those agents would leave, and the danger you faced would pass. It would be just you and him, _and he guesses Sideswipe would be there, too._ He would let you inside of him and get to feel your curious little servos, feel your soft body nestle within his frame, and hear you compliment him just like he’d seen you do with Bluestreak. The thought of organics inside of him repulsed him, but you would _always_ be different.

Once Cybertron was reclaimed, he would take you – _ugh, and maybe your useless meatball mate_ – to see the sights of Iacon and its spires. He could take you to speeds you’ve never experienced and race around the Rust Sea. You were bound to love the view of the Vaulted Heights of K’th Kinsere, and your little optics would glitter at seeing the Pious Pools. To hear you laugh and sigh, to hear you gasp in awe and delight, made that noisy muscle in his chestpiece flutter. What if some of this fondness he felt towards you was the mech trapped inside? What if he continued to feel this way about you when he was finally whole?

Laying on the medical bed, having the patient room to himself, he rested his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Maybe Sideswipe was right. Maybe he needed to try. He deserved to be happy, and what if it was with you? So what if you were small and squishy and _soft_ , he would find a way to make it work with you. It wasn’t all about interfacing – it was about having your kind words and soft touches all to himself. _And for Sideswipe or whatever._ Someone like Sunstreaker deserved someone like you, and if he was lucky and you felt the same? There would be no doubt; you would like him for _him_.

“You’ve had that dumb grin for quite some time, now.”

Her voice was ice down his back. He straightened and stared right at Bethany as she peeked in the doorway. She stepped inside slowly and quietly closed the door behind her. Her ocean eyes flitted from him to the floor, as if she was experiencing trouble keeping eye-contact. “What’re you thinking about?”

Sunstreaker couldn’t find the will to open his mouth, let alone answer the question honestly. He only stared at her, trying hard not to let his eyes wander. He didn’t like how he appreciated her long blonde hair, or how her figure reminded him of a stylishly attractive scout-frame, or how her skin looked smooth and _begging to be touched_. He looked away. He especially didn’t like how those big blue eyes made something in his body hunger. Not for fuel.

It was different from the Cybertronian desire, but not so much to where he didn’t know what it was. The difference was the _drive_ , the _urge_ to procreate and spawn like a disgusting organic.

He noticed the shadow of a bruise by her mouth, and the split on her painted lip. _You_ gave her those. The thought of how she’d been towards you curled his lip as he sneered, “Get out.”

“Now, now,” Bethany held up her hands, “I just want to talk.”

Her words were dangerous. Last time she talked, he wanted to pry his helm open and rip out this scraplet that burrowed in his brain-module. He shook his head vehemently, “No, no talk. Leave. _Now_.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” She remained by the door, tense, like any minute Sunstreaker would launch out of his bed and _make_ her leave. “I didn’t know me saying those things would make you freak out, and I’m sorry, and...and...”

Bethany nearly turned away, rubbing her eyes, “Jesus Christ, how can Eevee stand to look at you? It’s so weird. Henri never frowned like that.”

Sunstreaker felt a flash of assurance. You met his optics just fine, and even said you no longer saw the face of your sparkmate. To have that kind of confirmation put him in a better mood, and in turn, considered her offer to _talk_. “Fine, but only if you answer my questions.”

Bethany blinked, staring at him as you would a _really_ hard math problem.

“Why did you want to offline Eva’s sparkmate?”

She blinked some more. The math problem also became an essay question. “What? Offline? A _what_ -mate?”

Sunstreaker palmed his brow, “Ugh, human terms... You were pushing to remove the things that kept _this_ body alive. Why?”

Bethany’s lips curled in a bitter frown, and she let out a long breath through her nostrils. “I don’t expect you to understand. Henri was brain-dead. He was never going to wake up. To keep him alive like that was just cruel – but that doesn’t make me the bad guy.”

He scoffed, “It doesn’t?”

“Do you care about anyone, Mr. space alien?”

He was silent, only mentally answering her with a list of those he felt were important to him. You were on that list.

She didn’t wait any longer for his response, “I cared about Henri. To see him hooked up like that, it’s no way for anyone to live – if he was even alive, which he _wasn’t_. Wanting to let him go doesn’t make me a terrible person. Are you able to see that?”

His face scrunched up, “No?”

Bethany clarified, “Eevee said you can see a few of Henri’s memories. Do you see me?”

Sunstreaker didn’t want to delve into those thoughts and risk triggering another episode. He definitely didn’t want to think of all these things he wanted to _do_ to her. He kept it simple, “I know your designation. I know you knew this human male. That’s it.”

“You’ve seen Al and Eevee together, right? Best of friends? That’s how Henri and I were,” She started crossing the room, step by slow step, “We could talk for hours, and he could make me laugh so hard. Did you know that I helped him pick out most of his wardrobe? Eevee didn’t care about that kind of stuff, but he did.”

“Okay...?” Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what to say, his hands gesticulating, “Is there a point, or...should I care?”

Bethany stopped by the side of his bed, hugging herself, “What I’m trying to say is that Henri and I, we confided in one another. We were best friends, all of us, but he was special.”

He shifted uncomfortably, becoming aware of the scent of her perfume. “I thought you and Eva were confidants, once upon a time.”

“Once upon a time,” She echoed, “I loved her like a sister, and I still care about her, but she will never understand what it’s like to have to fight for everything. Her dad gave her everything while mine called me a whore when my skirt showed my knees. _Boo-hoo_ , her mom died. Mine always compared me to Eevee, _why can’t you be smart like your friend_. Do you know what that’s like? To never measure up?”

Bethany continued to vent at Sunstreaker, whose bright blue eyes searched for some semblance of an escape. “Then this perfect guy falls in her lap, and does she care what he wants? No. She wants to run a laboratory, she wants to further her career, she wants to help people she’s never met, but what about Henri? What about me?”

“What _about_ you?” He snapped, “She’s free to pursue what she wants.”

She snorted and smiled, “She is, and so am I.”

Sunstreaker straightened, panicked as she sat down on the bed. The scent of her hair wafted in his direction, and he was plagued with thoughts of tangling his digits in it all and forcing her face down on the bed. _No. No, no, no._

“Easy,” she crooned, “I won’t bite. See? Harmless.”

He was not soothed in the least with how she held up her hands, like you would while trying to pet a skittish animal. Slowly, she unbuttoned her blazer and reclined back, giving a shake of her head to tumble her blonde locks back behind her shoulders. Sunstreaker jolted when she finally laid her eyes on him.

“So now that I shared with you, it’s my turn.”

Sunstreaker swallowed, nodding. Maybe this woman wasn’t so bad. She _was_ pretty and that’s hardly her fault, just like it wasn’t his fault when mechs would fall left and right over how remarkable he was. They were probably very much alike. He should just give her a chance. At least, that’s what half of him craved and rationalized, fighting to find innocence with how this body started to react to her proximity. The other half still felt disgusted by her, and that must have been your sparkmate’s consciousness.

“Those girls out there are so gossipy, and I guess one overheard you say you didn’t want to see me because I make you...” Her lips curled in a smile, and her tongue peeked out as she annunciated with more flare than needed, “ _feel_ things.”

_Frag! Frag!_ What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t meet her gaze, intensely fixated on his fists in his lap, his fists that were desperately trying to hide that _horribly organic appendage that continued to pressurize._ He felt the shift on the medical bed as she leaned closer, steadying herself by planting her hand right by his thigh.

“Those feelings, is it...is it Henri?”

His head snapped up, “No. No, it can't be. He was bonded with Eva. It’s my malfunction.”

Bethany tossed her head back as she rolled her eyes, spitting out the word as if it was bitter dust. She regarded him with a growing sour expression, “Malfunction? _Malfunction_? You would be lucky to land a babe like me. You see this stomach? I bounced back after an eight pound baby within _weeks_. I am a _fucking_ catch. Henri knew that, you know. He would always say he wished I could meet a guy who would appreciate me for who I was.”

Sunstreaker’s voice came out a little more strained than he intended, “I don’t _care_. Really, I don’t.”

“You should,” She burbled up a cynical giggle, “Because I see you. I see you freaking out over Eevee, looking at her as if _you_ were Henri. You know what's sick? For all her righteousness and loyalty just being Miss _Perfect_ , she looks at _you_ the very same way, and _not_ because you look like Henri.”

Those words hit him hard and he flinched. What did she mean? How did he look at you? He looked at you like he would look at anyone – well, not _anyone_ , because he cared a little more about you. That’s all. So that meant that you looked at him like you cared, too. _Nothing more_. There was nothing else there, right? Was there more there? He didn’t have time to continue these streams of thought before he felt her lean closer.

Sunstreaker pressed back against the pillows as her eyes bounced between his. “Is Henri in there, somewhere, looking out? Does he know I have a daughter? That I kept her?”

He felt something in this human brain begin to warm and press against his temple. Another headache was coming, but this one felt different. It was accompanied with a clammy heat and twitching muscles. The fluid pump in his chest began to ramp up with his anxiety. He didn’t want another episode – especially without you here to talk him through it. He needed you. He needed this fleshling _gone_. He needed an _interface plate_ so he could shove this _annoying_ _thing_ back in its _housing_!

The Autobot in flesh shook his head feverously, “No. It’s...no. Could you just...move away?”

“Why would you want that?” Her eyes traced around his flushed face, then down the length of his body. All his senses came alive when she returned her gaze to his, “I know you want me. I can _see_ that you do.”

* * *

_(Trigger warning)_

His eyes traveled to the hand that snaked up her side and to her blouse. She undid a button, and another, and another. She was to her stomach, exposing a transparent pink lacy bra. Sunstreaker couldn’t look away. He couldn’t name what held him in place or kept his gaze on the show before him. This body begged, demanded, _screamed_ for her. It wanted to feel her touch. _It_ did, or was it him? Did _he_ want this?

Bethany scooted closer, her face drawing near. The same hand that undressed her top then traveled up his chest, sending currents of sensations across his skin, and he felt this dense weight ache between his thighs. He wanted to shove her off, but Primus it felt _so_ _good_. Why was he fighting this? It’s been how many thousands of years for him? What was so terrible about this woman being so enthralling? She was willing, so why not let her do what she wanted? His eyes lulled closed as he felt her breath on his neck and ear.

She hummed, “I’ll help you with your _problem_ , if you help me with mine.”

Sunstreaker felt her hand slither down between his legs and moved his fists aside to find her prize, and he gasped. That organic spike throbbed and pulsed in those soft hands, and he wanted nothing more than for her to go under the covers, to remove the fabrics that separated her skin from his, and show him how it’s done. This was _nothing_ like interfacing, but _Primus slap him with a spike_ it still felt so good! What would it feel like to take her like a mechanimal? What would a fleshling overload feel like? _What would breeding feel like?_

“Yeah, yes,” He panted. He gave in, so long as she did everything to relieve him of this wonderful burden. This human brain felt warm and delirious, new data began to unlock and flow like mercury, swirling and dancing with the slithering sensations that quivered his thighs.

He _knew_ what she could do, and he would enjoy it.

“Do you remember that night of Henri’s accident?” She breathed in his ear.

Sunstreaker shook his head, unable to rein in the rutting of his hips against her hand. His thoughts wandered, hearing voices in the fog of his desire, _“I want three of them; boys, girls, I don’t care.”_ A small part of him was confused, trying to sort where all this was coming from. Sparklings? He wanted sparklings? _He wanted to breed?_ But he couldn’t! He was Cybertronian!

_(Ends)_

* * *

“If you do, I need you to keep it to yourself,” Bethany said firmly, but still held onto that raspy seduction that tickled his senses, “I can’t risk people getting mad and letting Henri die just because of what happened. I can't lose him _again_. Do this for me and I’ll... I’ll do anything you want. Eva doesn’t have to know, not before she brings Henri back.”

Sunstreaker’s eyes widened at the sound of your name, and he finally realized, it wasn’t _him_ that wanted this woman. He suddenly shoved her with all his might and Bethany went flying off the medical bed. Her body _panged_ as it bounced off the metal floor, and she let out an unholy screech not unlike a dying Seeker. He stood, staring down at her as the beads of mercury data rolled around, coming together in a large puddle of disgrace.

_He knew what she could do_. He _knew_ what Bethany could _do_. Memories of your sparkmate showed him what _your best friend_ could do.

Finally, it was all clear. _Finally_ , he knew what was him, and which was that horrible, sickening creature you call a mate. He found the divide within himself, and he knew he felt nothing but contempt for the fleshling on the floor before him. This behavior was _unfathomable_ to his people. Were humans so revoltingly fickle with those they claimed to love? _Were you?_

The door flew open with a loud bang, vibrating the metal wall. Alan stormed in, taking in the scene of Bethany on the floor, whimpering while holding her head with her shirt open, and the Autobot-made-human suffering an _obvious_ issue tenting from his scrubs. He yelped, “The _fuck_ did I just walk in on?!”

Sunstreaker looked between the two, his eyes watering as the ache in his chest grew. The data became clear, and he felt the pain of knowing the truth. You were nothing like them, and _this will shatter you_. He growled and stomped past the blonde up to Alan.

The tech was immediately on the defensive, feeling additionally threatened with more than just a finger pointing at him, “Hey man, hey! Step back with that –!"

“Did you know!?” Sunstreaker yelled, the fury in his eyes blazed with his words, “Did you have any idea what he did?! Your _friend_!?”

Alan, for one of the few times of his life, opened and closed his mouth in his own stupor, “I...I wasn’t sure...”

“You never told anyone? After all this time!”

He turned a shade whiter. He could only manage a strangled whisper, “Who would believe me?”

Sunstreaker couldn’t accept it. He shoved him aside and ran. He pushed past those in his way, nearly stumbling down the steps. He heard his name being called from many of your staff and a few bots. He glanced over his shoulder, finding a few people began to give chase. He booked it a little faster.

He ran across the open floor, his legs burned and his chest heaved. He felt so slow in this weak meatbag and he cursed himself for his inability to do the simplest things. _Like driving_. He made it halfway to the open hangar door before having to pause and breathe. How you did it, running like a turbofox, he would never know.

_Eva_. _Tiny femme. Soft femme._ You were with someone terrible, someone he _hated_. Sunstreaker started running again. He needed to find _you_ , to tell you what happened, what he _knew_. He didn’t want you spending another moment with that agent, and especially didn’t want you going one more klik not knowing the truth on the one man you loved. He needed to find a way to get to – _hurghk!_

Something strong cut across his neck as he turned a corner, and suddenly his feet were flailing up where his head should be. His shoulders hit the pavement _hard_ , and knocked the air right from his ventilations systems – _lungs_ , whatever. His eyes crossed and blurred, and when they refocused, your mini-con of an assistant leaned into his vision.

Holly clothes-lined him, and at her height, _how_ was a mystery. She clucked, “What is this? Running like an _enfant indiscipliné_ –"

“I have to...find Eva...” He wheezed, rolling from side to side to try and get up, looking very much like that tank-frame his brother was dating.

“Don’t you worry, I know where she is,” Holly hummed, “You just stay here and behave.”

Sunstreaker paused his struggles to catch his breath. “I can't...be here, I have to tell her, she needs to know.”

The petite woman had a dangerous edge to her glare. “Needs to know _what_?”

He coughed a few times, rubbing the water from his eyes as he wheezed, “That night. I remember that night.”

Holly straightened, staring down at him as a hawk would stare at a threat, “It cannot wait?”

It could. Technically, it _could_. This wasn’t a life or death situation, and in all honesty he didn’t _have_ to tell you. Sunstreaker could keep this all to himself and just not care – not care about this stupid fleshling drama, and these stupid fleshling feelings, and your _stupid fleshling face_!

Sunstreaker pushed himself up to sit, and the water rushed from his eyes all the more. He wiped and wiped but these dumb organic optics wouldn’t stop leaking. He should keep this to himself, to avoid the look in your eyes and those pitiful noises you would make. The thought of it all left this phantom pain of his spark-chamber forced open, and someone pulling out pieces of him. _Ripping out shards of his spark_.

This pain was _his own_ pain. This dread of hurting you was _his own_ dread. Despite all logic telling him what was _best_ , he didn’t care. The right thing was to tell you. _You had to know_. Sunstreaker turned his teary alien eyes at Holly, nearly pleading. “It can’t.”

“Bro?”

He turned his head, unsure if his brother walking up was a hallucination or the universe’s greatest coincidence.

“I got this feeling in my spark, and...and I _felt_ this pain over the link and... what's going on?” Sideswipe stepped up to them, taking in the scene and suddenly shifting to a tenser stance.

Holly LeTene was looking between the two, her eyes widening as she started putting together the facts as she knew them: Your patient was distressed, having run from your laboratory area where Alan and Bethany were – any one of those two could be responsible. Your patient was experiencing Mr. Arkeville’s memories that had him clearly upset. So upset, in fact, that there was a possibility of his alien sibling – _however the ever living hell that worked_ – feeling something akin to the phenomena of human twins.

And then there was _you_. Holly would admit she was thinking selfishly, hating the idea of you baring your neck to the wolves in hopes they don’t find you too tasty. She wanted you where she could keep a better eye, and where she could get you to sit down and take the RAIU test to see _what the fuck was happening to you_. 

“Then you must find her.” Holly suddenly yanked Sunstreaker to his feet, deftly pulling out an earbud-like device from her satchel-of-holding and pressing it in his palm. “I’ve installed a tracker on her pager. This will help you pinpoint exactly where she’s located.”

She rounded the taller man and pushed him in Sideswipe’s direction, “And you, contact your comrade in the field.”

The red gunner yelped, “But Prowl will have my –"

“I’ll handle him,” Holly said with all the confidence in the galaxy, “Go find her, and tell her this thing that _cannot wait_.”

...|oOo|...

You took a long sip of wine, trying to calm your nerves and awkwardness. You only changed into casual slacks and a common blue blouse, parking in front of a simple diner to enjoy a simple meal in your simple clothes. Seymour Simmons changed his mind and decided to take you to this expensive and fancy restaurant.

Kidnapping 101: never let your assailant take you to a secondary location. You should have put your foot down and fought harder. You should have just walked away from his car instead of getting in and letting him drive you here. You should have said _No_ , but you might as well have written _GUILTY_ across your forehead. You had some semblance of security, knowing you had an Autobot following you – but you never saw him. What if you lost him?

Now, you were under-dressed, relying solely on _your date_ for a ride back to your car at the place you were _comfortable_ eating at, and there was a damn violinist hovering around your table desperately trying to set the mood. You were _not_ having it.

“I didn’t expect you to have such...expensive tastes.” You shot a glare at the violinist. The thin man caught onto your ire and whirled about with flair, moving on to the next table.

Agent Simmons smiled, “That dive was sub-par and trashy.”

“They serve pancakes at any hour,” You nearly whined, “ _good_ pancakes, and waffles.”

“I think you should have something better than soggy breakfast food.”

“I’m not used to...this, whatever this is.” You waved your hand around, trying to get your point across, “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” He inclined his head, “Do you not like surprises?”

You sucked in a breath and decided to answer honestly, “At the moment, no. This is nice and all, but I was under the impression that we had something serious to talk about.”

“Yes, sorry.” He said, but not convincingly enough, “Let’s discuss that uncomfortable topic and be done with it. You spoke with Doctor Arkeville?”

“I have. I showed him the errors, and he was really upset. He didn’t want to show it, and said he must have been distracted or someone reported to him the wrong count, but he looked confused and lost,” You rehearsed your story well, “I spoke with his staff, and they pointed out that he’s forgetting a lot of mundane things.”

Agent Simmons covered his hand with his mouth, eating up everything you were saying. You felt unclean, pulling at his heartstrings like this, but it had to be done. Your shame appeared as sadness. “I’m a doctor, but I don’t want to accept what I’m seeing.”

“You think this is Alzheimer’s disease? For this long?”

“Ivan is a proud man,” You let out a dramatic, wispy, sigh, “He’s stubborn and doesn’t want to look the fool, but agreed to let my assistant go through everything and resubmit corrections. After the investigation comes to a close, he agreed to submit his resignation.”

“Not before?”

“He doesn’t want it to look like he was forced to resign because of the incident,” You answered coolly.

Agent Simmons sucked in a breath, “Damn, yeah. It would look like he’s being let go because he did something wrong. I get it.”

You nodded slowly, not taking any pleasure in Doctor Arkeville’s plan being a success, but there was something... _dark_ that you found satisfaction in. You aspired to rise above such ugly feelings, but you were up on your pedestal of virtue looking down, and you were _proud of what you could do._ This skill you’ve developed, this awful talent of using what you knew psychologically to mislead this man to believing what you wanted, you couldn’t help but feel pleased and it made you ashamed. 

“I’ll give him some time, then. I’m sure with me badgering him to get in that Autobot base is not helping his condition,” He looked off thoughtfully, “I’ll just keep pressing the liaison.”

You didn’t want to seem too eager, “This won’t get you in any trouble?”

“Don’t worry about that.” He smiled like he was your knight in shining armor, that he was your hero and chivalry never died. “But since you seem to have such a good rapport with those aliens, maybe you can talk to their Commander again. I really need to get in there, to see what they’re up to.”

“I’ll try,” You pouted some, just enough to look displeased with the idea, “He’s not the friendliest.”

“I got that impression,” He snorted a contemptuous laugh, “I don’t know how you can stand their company.”

Your knee-jerk reaction was to defend them, but you checked yourself. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for and I can tell you what I find.”

“You’d be my informant?”

You nodded, hoping he would give up trying to enter the facility.

Agent Simmons glanced away for a moment, thinking, before giving you his verdict. “Did I ever tell you how I lost my father?”

_Fuck_. That’s not a _verdict_. He wasn’t answering you, he was about to tell you a personal story you were _just_ not interested in. You shook your head for more than one reason.

“He was killed when I was ten, by an NBE.”

You blinked. It couldn’t have been an Autobot, so you could safely assume it was a Decepticon. Basically the very reason your friends were here was to keep incidents like what happened to his father from becoming the norm. “Oh...I’m sorry. Was it the enemy faction?”

“Does it matter? The world would be better if none of them were here,” He said, “To ask you to put yourself in harm’s way – _more_ than you already are, I already lost my dad to these things. I don’t want to risk you.”

“Oh,” you repeated the sound. That nugget of information explained a lot. He never seemed a fan of the Autobots, and now you knew why. He was too _ignorant_ to see the difference, and it didn’t appear that he wanted to learn another way. 

“Can I ask you something?” Simmons didn’t bother for your answer, “Do you date often?”

That took you by surprise, and you let it show, “Excuse me?”

“I ask because out of all the times I’ve spoken with you, you don’t share much about yourself. You tend to talk about your work a lot,” He surmised, “I don’t think you get out much, and you don’t seem the type to fraternize, so I’m betting you don’t date often.”

_You’re the one who’s fraternizing!_ You worked your jaw, rapid-fire blinking while forcing a smile – but you might as well have been baring your teeth. “No.”

“Why not?” He pried.

“I’m...not...” You hesitated, and he noticed. He took you off guard and you had to explain, _fast_ , before he could ask anything else, “I had a bad break-up a long time ago. After that, I just focused on work.”

“It seems you had no trouble keeping friends, as _eccentric_ as they are.” He leaned back, sipping his wine. He looked a bit perturbed recalling those you associate with.

You were trying not to be impressed with yourself, coming up with a convincing lie so quickly. You giggled lightly, giving your best effort to not appear as nervous as you felt, “I’ve known them for a long time. They grow on you.”

“Like mold, I'm sure.” He muttered, looking away.

You bit your tongue. They were your friends. Comparing them to a small, unwanted fungal organism that could potentially cause rash, sinusitis, wheezing, itchy eyes – _and more_ , had you clenching your fists in your lap, “They got me through a lot, you know.”

“Of course they did,” He said, and every word of it sounded as patronizing as the last. You watched him adjust his tie and clear his throat, throwing fleeting glances your way before speaking again, “The offer still stands for you to come and work for me. You could quit here and come with me to the capital. I have a spare room in my apartment you can have.”

_What?_ You didn’t think your heart could beat in your throat, “Did you just ask me...to _move in with you?_ ”

“I want to be as transparent with you as possible. Life is too short to just mess around, so I’m going to be forward.” His black-hole eyes locked onto your wider ones, “I want you to come over tonight. I want us to talk about what will happen once I’m done with my investigation. I don’t want to have a long distance relationship, so we need to think of you coming to HQ.”

Did he think you two were already an _item_? Where does this man _get the balls_!? His bold _demand_ had your mouth hanging open, and you lost your best poker-face as you stared incredulously. Your first reaction was to feel insulted. How dare he think you would just come over late at night to _talk_ – what would people think? You were a lady of science, not someone looking for a good time, _not with him_ , at least.

The second reaction was in the form of internal cadence of shrieks and curses that was so loud, he should hear the tiny screams wailing from your ears. You had to force yourself to look at your white-knuckled fists pressed in your lap. You weren't sure who you screamed at the most: him or yourself. Did you come across as someone to be domesticated? Someone who hated their job? The one reason you loved Henri was because he supported you. He didn’t want to tie you down and turn you into a homemaker with three little ones and another on the way. He respected your decision of _not now_ , and he encouraged you to put your dreams first.

Your eyes returned to his, and he looked confused and concerned. He was the type your mother always warned you of, the kind to make the decisions for you. It was hard to keep pretending when you imagined being trapped, and losing everything that made you, _you_. 

You started to shake your head, growling between your teeth, “What about what _I_ want?”

“Eva.”

You thought you finally snapped. _What about what I want_? You thought you heard his voice. Sunstreaker. Of all the people you would rather be with, you wanted to spend time with him – _to work on, and nothing else_. You longed for Henri, but there was something about that alien that set you afire, and as much as you fought it, you couldn’t keep yourself apart from him, let alone keep your thoughts from wandering. _What about what I want_?

Seymour Simmons’ face told you differently as he glared past you. You twisted in your seat to see Sunstreaker, standing in scrubs, looking absolutely out of place in this stuffy restaurant.

You gasped, “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you, _now_.” He grabbed your arm.

You didn’t put up much of a fight as he pulled you to your feet. You stumbled some, looking over at Agent Simmons just in time for him to stand, “What's this all about?”

Sunstreaker didn’t say anything as he started pulling you through the restaurant. You kept glancing back at the pursuing agent, trying to keep his voice down as the other patrons gawked at this uncivilized scene that played out. The cold air hit you hard, realizing you left your coat inside. “Sunny, wait –"

“Get in,” He ordered as Sideswipe pulled up, his backseat door opening for your convenience.

“What the hell is this all about?” Agent Simmons finally let out his commanding voice as he burst out the restaurant doors.

You didn’t know why, or how, Sunstreaker found you. If it was something he couldn’t reveal in present company, you had to find a way to get away from the agent, “Seymour, I need to go –"

“No,” He said firmly, stepping up and shoving the blond man away from you, “He just grabs you and pulls you away without a good reason? I know a jealous man when I see one.”

“This has nothing to do with you.” Sunstreaker shoved him back.

You got between them as fast as you could. “Stop! That’s enough!”

“Need me to back you up?” Sideswipe revved his engine, and you winced as the agent threw his arms out in a wide gesture to the car.

“You were escorted by the aliens?! That has to breach _some_ kind of protocol.”

Bluestreak came squealing up from behind, ramping up on the sidewalk. It was quite the deterrent for passersby, but it made the taller man reach for his gun – that he brought to your _date_ , what the _fuck?!_

“Is everything alright? Eva, are you okay?”

You wanted to palm your face so hard, you would just knock yourself out and sleep through whatever disaster fate was starting to cook up. Agent Simmons looked like a feeble bird as he waved his arms between the two alien cars, “Seriously!?”

“Everyone just shut up!” You snapped, noticing the spectators giving the spectacle a wide berth. You pointed between the flashy vehicles, “You don’t even _think_ about changing in civilian territory.”

You turned to Agent Simmons, smiling as apologetically as you could, “This is obviously serious –"

“I’m sorry, but I’m not letting you go with him. This man is acting erratic and dangerous.”

“More dangerous than you know,” Sunstreaker snarled.

“Not helping, Sunny!” You groaned, “It’s ok, Seymour. I’ll call you later.”

“I _said_ I’m not letting you go with him.” He latched onto your arm, and his iron grip had your heart quiver with rabbit-fear. The urge to flee was too much, and when the basic instinct to flee is cut off, the only thing left was to _fight_.

You wrenched yourself away, snapping, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Someone should!” He roared at you for the first time, and that display of power had you cowed. He jutted a finger in Sunstreaker’s direction. “I don’t trust him. He behaves like a psychopath. You might be in danger when you’re with him. I’m _trying_ to look out for you.”

You felt Sunstreaker take a few steps to meet the man, and instinctively you held out your hand and planted it right on his chest. He pressed against you just enough to let you know, you were the only thing holding him back from tearing into this agent.

You knew the mech could stand against Agent Simmons, but as a man? Sunstreaker wouldn’t stand a chance against a trained professional – _you assumed_.

“I’ve been taking care of myself _long_ before you showed up, _Agent_ ,” You spat out his title like grit in your mouth, “I make my own choices. I _know_ Sunny won’t hurt me.”

Agent Simmons’ wounded gaze bored into you, “I know you’re hiding so much from me, and I’m giving you so many chances to just talk to me. So just _tell_ me what’s going on.”

_So much._ You couldn’t meet his eyes. The feel of Sunstreaker’s hand on yours drew your attention to him, and his brows creased with a sadness you’ve never witnessed before. The very sight of it made your heart weep.

“We need to go,” He said softly, “I know what happened that night.”

Your head cocked, “That night?”

“His accident.” He pulled your hand off him and closed the distance. He steadied you by your shoulders.

Everything around you melted away from existence as you swayed. _That night_. The night you let Henri leave. The snow thundered down so hard, you remember the giant flurries flying in your foyer when he opened the front door. You remember the wet spots they left on the floor when they melted.

You could barely breathe out the words, “What – what happened?”

“Henri went to see Bethany that night.”

You blinked. That wasn’t possible. He told you Alan called for a ride – which he was too drunk to remember. Why would he go over to Bethany’s? He would tell you if he was going to see your friend. You would have gone with him if she needed any help, or was in any trouble during that awful snow-storm. “I don’t understand.”

“That night, she found out she was carrying, er... she was _pregnant_. Alan didn’t call Henri. She did.”

You barely registered Seymour Simmons murmur behind you as you barked out a laugh, “What? That makes no sense. Why would he lie? He would...”

It started coming together, this awful puzzle you didn’t want to complete.

“Why...Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant? I thought she got pregnant after she moved.”

Sunstreaker said nothing, only gazing at you with the most sympathetic look in those electric blue eyes, holding you up as you relied on him more and more to act as your foundation.

“Why...?” Tears started strangling the words from you, “Why...did he lie to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~The moments when Sideswipe received his diagnostic scans from First Aid~  
> First Aid continuously glanced at Ratchet’s datapad, setting up sensors and plugging in Sideswipe to the terminal beside the medical slab. The medibot ran all these tests before, but he wasn’t about to question the CMO.  
> Sideswipe watched a troupe of humans meander by, and judging by the little tools they carried, they were on the team that built stuff and linked up their primitive little computers to their Cybertronian ones. Wheeljack came walking in, stepping carefully to keep from squishing his favorite little pack of these fleshies.  
> Walking without fear beside the mech’s large peds, was who Sideswipe recognized as *your* friend and comrade.  
> “Paint-Job!” The red gunner called eagerly.  
> Alan worked his jaw a moment, then addressed the bot as he made his way over, “can’t-sit-the-fuck-still bot. What do?”  
> “What do?” Sideswipe tilted his head.  
> Wheeljack clarified, “It’s his way of asking ‘what are you doing?’. His dialect is a little different –"  
> “No, he’s just a pain in the aft,” First Aid muttered, all the while tapping on his console.  
> “Whatever,” Sideswipe moved aside some cables to turn and look down at the fleshling more, “How do you court femmes?”  
> The room stilled. First Aid stared up from his work. Wheeljack shifted awkwardly as Alan’s pointed up at him, “How the hell should I know how you bastards do the do. Ask this nerd!”  
> “No,” Sideswipe clarified, “*Your* femmes. How do you court *human* femmes?”  
> “You’re asking ME for dating advice?” Alan had the beginnings of a giggle-fit.  
> Wheeljack was waving his hands as frantically – and as subtly – as he could. First Aid started shaking his head, “There’s better people to ask, Sides.”  
> “They don’t know Eva like he does.”  
> “You want to date HER?!”  
> “Yeah! What does she like?”  
> Alan wheezed, coughing up his laughter and pounding his chest like an oil-drum. First Aid and Wheeljack began listing all the reasons why the front-line gunner SHOULDN’T court a fragile fleshing, but Alan yelled above the rest, “She likes Sex, Drugs, and Rock’n’Roll.”  
> “No,” First Aid disagreed firmly.  
> “What you do is watch a bunch of videos that involve a plumber, or a pizza delivery guy, and a chick. Sometimes all three, but that’s a little extra at the movie mart.”  
> “Nooo!” First Aid said with ramping panic at his bouncing patient. He only knew what those kind of seedy videos were because of research purposes – Because he was a DOCTOR! Not researching for his next fic, no. He was a professional.  
> Alan had a grin a mile wide. The need to feed his desire to sow chaos was overwhelming. “But most importantly, you gotta show her what you’re packin’, if you even got anything to show for it. And I ain’t talkin’ about guns.”  
> Sideswipe tilted his head, “Seriously!? You mean my –?"  
> “NOO!” First Aid smacked the back of his helm with a wrench, “Pova! Sides! Remember Pova!”  
> Wheeljack quickly yanked up the squirming tech, who was scream-laughing. The engineer-bot quickly escorted him from the room.
> 
> Later, Ratchet would find a ding in Sideswipe’s helm, but not ask a single thing. Maybe it had something to do with that painted menace continuously interrogating bots on what 'Pova' was. He was considering on messaging Optimus about the rules of sharing such a blemish of Autobot history, but all his other messages were coming back with the error: RECIPIENTS INBOX FULL. Optimus must be pretty busy if his message box was too full to accept new mail.
> 
> Elsewhere, Prowl is replacing his keyboard to his computer. The ENTER/SEND button was worn out.


End file.
